The Leopard's Apprentice
by Lady of the Shire
Summary: Humans make the grave mistake of believing they are exempt from the Laws of Nature. Unfortunately, Raika must learn this feral pandect quickly if he is to prevail. Because in the "jungle" you'll lose your way before you lose your mind and ultimately your life…
1. Prologue

The Leopard's Apprentice

By

Lady of the Shire

* * *

PROLOGUE

* * *

_DISCLAIMER: MegaMan NT Warrior and all related entities are the property of ShoPro, Viz Media, Ryo Takamisaki, and related partners._

* * *

"Transmission will begin within 240 seconds."

"Securing communication lines. Feedback will commence within 30 seconds."

"Verifying secure channel for transport. Final scan for malicious abnormalities within connection has begun."

"Begin start-up sequence from step 98 and continue until any critical errors arise."

"Sentry 183734 has undergone final critical-point inspection for any programming errors."

"Sentry 183734 is now being prepped for transmission. Downloading weapons inventory and responsive repair system."

"Transmission will commence within 198 seconds."

"Communication lines have been verified."

"Download will be completed within 15 seconds."

Panels within the control room were alive with the cadence of keystrokes. Flickering of status alarms signaled the onslaught of data that whizzed through multiple levels of intricate circuitry. The information was to be translated by the expert eyes of the countless operators, who scurried back and forth through the facility like a hive of livid hornets. The ambiance was no better. The incoherent gaggles of instructions were countered before they were fully issued….

"Step 150 of 300 has been completed."

"Final overview of destination coordinates has been completed."

"Code 274-B and 783-C are being rejected by the start-up sequence."

"Verify the transmission path again and restart the sequence at step 270."

A female operator looked up from her monitor screen to respond to the last order she had received. "Also, I have verified confirmation on the status of all Sentrys within the party, save for 136825." Her superior adjusted himself in his seat before summoning the data to his own monitor. "Still operational?" His subordinate gave a brisk nod in response. "However, tracking their position is proving to be more of a challenge than we had anticipated. There is a large amount of interference." The officer folded his arms and adjusted his glasses as he hovered closer to the screen. "That was one of the issues with the deployment—this region is unstable and apparently inhospitable. That is why we changed the plan." An operator next to the woman turned around to address the same man. "It is still hard to believe that this may have been an attempted hacking. Such a convoluted approach." Another personnel chimed in: "That is the issue, isn't it? It is the most inconspicuous point of access. Only someone with extensive knowledge of the military's intranet would be aware of such vulnerabilities."

Their superior mused over that statement for a moment.

Suddenly, another subordinate spoke up: "Lieutenant General Mensch, sir, with your permission I would like to establish a private connection with 183734."

The other three operators flinched.

The female personnel countered. "B-but, sir, the Sentry is in the midst of preparations! Besides, I doubt that there is any additional information that we can provide that could even help!" cried the woman. "One-hundred and twenty seconds until transmission," added her colleague.

The officer nodded. "It's alright," he told the two. Then, he turned to the source of the request. "May I ask why?"

"I just want to confirm something," the young man said.

* * *

Stillness.

The deep breath before the plunge, so to speak. Despite the surrounding pandemonium, preparations were going smoothly. Bonding with each link and downloading all relevant information as a sponge absorbs water. So passive. That is what the program thought amidst the countless streams of data that were passing through him at that moment. Despite the serenity, maintaining "consciousness" proved to be rather challenging. Nonetheless, he concentrated hard….

"_All right. This is the last step. I have nothing to worry about. I just need to follow the instructions that were given to me and complete my assignment. There is no need for me to be concerned of anything going wrong. After all, I am just a messenger…."_

This was a low level task. Any one of the others could have been summoned instead. A quick stream of instructions, some small modifications, and he was ready to be thrown into the ocean. "Learn how to swim in the midst of fighting for your life." A great concept. So great that he wondered why someone **else **wasn't chosen for this type of work. He could think of a million other things he would rather be doing right now…aside from being presumably cannon fodder.

"_Simple. 'Just find the party under the direction of 136825 and contact headquarters on their whereabouts.' Nothing more. That's right. Should take no more than a few—" _

"Sentry 183734. A word with you," a voice said, interrupting the program's stream of thoughts.

The entity winced. "Y-yes!?"

"How are you feeling?"

"What?!" The program recovered quickly with: "Oh! I'm fine, I suppose. The diagnostic tests indicated that there weren't any major abnormalities detected within my—"

"That is not what I meant." Something about the statement left the program uneasy, despite the collected tone. "How are _you _feeling?"

The sentry paused. "I am…."

"It's alright. This is a private line."

He was confused. Why would this person establish a private line at a time like this? Were some secret instructions being revealed now? Did that mean that there was more to this mission than at first glance? Maybe he had been wrong. What if there had been a reason why he had been selected? But, what if he wasn't ready for such demands? "_Maybe a more competent individual?! Does this mean that everything was a charade?!" _

"Please do not take that the wrong way," added the voice. "I just didn't want to impede any of your other connections."

Oh.

"I know that you were told that this is a rather low-level assignment. Nonetheless, be sure to remain vigilant. Despite the number of safeguards installed in your programming, there is no guarantee that the viruses are any less dangerous. I wish there was more than I could tell you but all the data that was disclosed to you is our most current information."

Sentry 183734 nodded. "I…understand."

Suddenly, the being became irritated with itself. _"This is ridiculous! Why am I so nervous?! If I continue to respond in such an incoherent manner, they really might just decide to send in someone else! Wait. But, that wouldn't be a bad thing, would it? No. I'm just as good as anyone else to do this!" _As if to reassure himself, he examined his physical form: a humanoid structure, armored to the appropriate level of assigned combat conditions. Forest green plating wasn't aesthetically pleasing but such a notion was irrelevant in this case. The entity patted his chest plate and then noted the five appendages on each hand, dyed grey like remaining unarmored portions of his body. _"Pretty generic design. Identical to the rest of the sentinel programs," _he mused. Then, the Sentry flexed each of his lengthy fingers. _"Everything appears to be in working order. No problems with visuals, audio, or mobility. _Finally, he concentrated on his right hand. _"I should be able to deploy my weapon instinctively." _Sure enough, the desired function occurred swiftly. The program eyed the item, almost twice the length of its normal arm. The homing buster was designed to disperse an even larger number of consecutive rounds per second than that of older versions. _"Should the event arise that the viruses do make an appearance, this should be able to deal with them."_

"I was just informed that you have 30 seconds before transmission," the caller said.

Sentry 183734 nodded. "R-right."

"Remember, we just want to verify his status, nothing more. Make sure not to interfere with his team's mission."

"Roger," the program answered. _"Geez. How am I supposed to find him? I wasn't even given a visual." _

"If I may ask, how will I know the target when I see him?" the being asked.

The question elicited a chuckle. "You will know. He has a…unique appearance."

The Sentry shrugged. "Right."

"One more thing," the voice added with a steely tone. The program drew to attention. _"Now what is it!?" _However, he did not betray his growing irritancy. "Y-yes? What would that be, sir?"

The next statement was spoken gently. "I have a small request: Just make sure that he stays…in one piece."

The connection was terminated.

Or at least it appeared to have been.

Hard to tell with the other links that were severed simultaneously. Then, that sudden sensation of being distorted and dissolved into a million fragments.

The deep breath before the plunge, so to speak….

* * *

A barren landscape flaunted in grey, hushed yet tense. The sky was no different. Dreary and monochromatic. Minuscule flakes similar to that of snow drifted down. It was strange. The surroundings were very calm, regardless of the circumstances. As an outsider, first impressions weren't convincing. "Nonetheless, I still need to remain vigilant," the program told himself. The sentry walked slowly away from the transmission point, weapons fully deployed. He did his best to move with stealth, aside from the rhythmic crunch of each footfall through the layers of fallen snow-like particulates. Visual sensors were on full alert, scanning the landscape constantly.

He paused.

"I forgot to ask how long it would take for me to reach the group," the program muttered, already jaded. "That would have been a good thing to ask." Well, no use attempting to contact the operators until the end of the mission. Otherwise, there was a risk of alerting "undesirables" to his location. "I guess I am just going to have to keep going until I find them. No use sulking," the Sentry firmly admitted.

"Though, it would have been a good idea to have asked that operator…."

* * *

It felt as if hours had passed.

Nothing.

There had been no changes in the décor either: same despondent atmosphere above and below. The sentry at least anticipated encountering one malevolent element by now.

"_Could there be a possibility that…I was transported to the wrong place?"_

The question mused.

"_Damn! Does that mean that I should have contacted them before I started walking away?"_

Then it festered.

"_Would I have had been able to make contact with them if I had remained longer at the transmission point?"_

The more it reiterated, the more it was interpreted as a disaster.

"_Have they been trying to contact me this entire time?! What if I have been walking in the wrong direction this entire time!? What if I am too late?! What if the entire group has already been deleted and I failed!? WHAT IF—"_

Unbeknownst to the program, a looming figure skulked not too far away. Carefully, it slithered across the ground, with a fluid ebb and flow as it seemed to unify with the earth and then resurface.

Others materialized.

"—_What should I do now?! Should I go back?! Should I keep going forward?! What do I do if I can't find them?! Should I just try to contact the operators anyway? But what if I reveal my position to—"_

They picked up momentum, meandering and dipping wildly like rapids rather than a quaint brook….

"—_Maybe I should just wait for them to try and contact me? No! That doesn't make sense! They could have been trying to do so this whole time! It's probably because of this damned place that none of the communication signals are going through—"_

Closer still….

"—_I could just backtrack to where I arrived. No! What good will that do!? It doesn't matter where I am—"_

Their leader was impatient. It broke from the rest and seeped out of the ground. A hunched figure sprinted towards its target….

"—_That does it! I'll just contact them! I know it's premature but this _**_is _**_an emergency!"_

"Sentry 183734 to Operations, can you hear—"

The program's face was engulfed. Within seconds, a multitude of restraints had latched on to his deployed weapon, wrapped around his midriff and clamped down on his ankles. He was flung to the ground! The sentry wriggled frantically to be freed but to no avail.

"_What!? What is this?! Are _**_these_**_ the viruses?! W-What are they doing to me?! I can't—"_

"Are you an idiot!?"

"_What?"_

"Was he really going to do what I think he was?" added another.

"_Huh?!"_

"Ah! That is what I hate about new recruits! Look how long we have been signaling our location!" grumbled the third captor.

"_Eh?!"_

"This one's been walking in the opposite direction to where we are!" the fourth individual added.

"WHAT?!" cried the Sentry.

"Keep your voice down!" hissed the voice belonging to the first captor. "And stop struggling! We aren't going to hurt you!"

"Then why are you pinning me to the ground!" their captive hissed back.

"Because you were about to give us all away," said the fourth captor in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Y-yes, but what else was I supposed to do!" the Sentry countered.

"Pay attention!" growled the third captor. "We've been sending you a signal to our location since you entered this place!"

"Really? Well…WAIT! Who the hell—why are you still holding me down!?" the pinned program snapped.

"You know, if you had been paying attention, you would have saved time!" growled the most belligerent member of the quintet.

The Sentry glowered. "I already said that I am sorry! What more to you want from me?"

The group of five carefully made their way back to the remainder of their team, skulking over the flat terrain like serpents. The first soldier that had spoken to Sentry 183734 appeared to be the most diplomatic. "To be honest, we can't really blame you. It's not easy for us to use comm. links even when in proximity to one another."

Their "guest" glanced at the heavens looming overhead. "I guess it is because of this place."

"No."

The Sentry turned around in time to watch the least welcoming member of the group crawl by. "It's not just this place. It's those _monsters_."

The newcomer eyed him curiously. "You mean the…."

Suddenly, the program stopped and flattened itself in the snow. The grouch turned back to glance at him. "What are you doing?!"

"I…I have a mission that I need to complete," the rookie announced with resolve. "Are you sure that Sentry 136825 is within your midst?" he then asked, almost pleadingly.

The Navi furthest ahead responded. "Listen. That serial number belongs to no one _here_. But if Operations was positive of who they are looking for, your guy has to be back at base."

With that, Sentry 183734 slowly resumed following the others. _"This job was going to take longer than I thought…." _

Pushing that aside, the soldier thought that it wouldn't hurt to at least get more acquainted with these individuals…including the grumpy one. He figured that he could at least learn more about what they were doing out here. _"Maybe even provide some additional information back to the Operators. I'm sure that they would appreciate that."_

"S-so…I was only given a brief overview of the situation out here? What exactly is going on?"

The nearest program craned his head in the newcomer's direction. Though he sported a full-face obscure visor, like the others, it was obvious that he wasn't pleased. "It's not obvious?! If you can't even figure _that _out then why the Hell were you sent here in the first place?!" he growled.

Sentry 183734 scowled. "Hey! I wasn't given much time to prepare, okay?! I think I am entitled to know what I am in for so that I can at least—"

"What?! Survive? Escape? Fight?!" The same Navi twisted around, snarling. "What good is **that** knowledge in this case?! Regardless we can't even—"

"That's enough." The impromptu leader did not even do as much as glance over his shoulder.

However, the grouch took the interruption as an invitation to redirect his frustrations. "Oh, really?! Easy for you to say…_Kratos_."

Immediately, the accused halted and slammed his fist into the ground. "I told you to stop calling me _that_!" he hissed.

A scoff. "Oh! What's this? Is the fearless second-in-command getting hot under the collar?! You can't live up to your name if you're going to behave like that!"

Their guest was confused. He began to fall behind as he hesitated whether or not he had a better chance of surviving on his own.…

"Just ignore those two," a voice suddenly manifested adjacent to him. Sentry 183734 nearly jumped! He turned to face another one of the soldiers who had been quiet for most of the trek. Sheepishly, he stated: "It's kind of hard not to, given the fact that they seem ready to go at each other's throats." The other program chuckled. "It's not uncommon for us to temporarily assign ourselves nicknames while on missions. That one over there likes to get himself waist-deep in trivia. So he has a lot of material to work with." The guest nodded. "Oh. So what are you called then?" The program pointed at the grump, still engaging in a full-blown argument. "You'll have to ask him. _Deimos _is what he has taken a liking to. I don't know if we—" he gestured at himself and the other mute member "— have shown enough 'admirable qualities' to be granted a pseudonym."

"I see."

The Sentry searched for his next words. "So…I guess that D-Deimos is the leader on this mission then?"

His companion appeared taken back. "They…really didn't tell you much, did they?"

A sigh. "No. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. There isn't much to say. Somehow viruses found their way into this obsolete network and are running amok. Not surprised. I'm sure this area has long been forgotten. We just need to plug the opening. The environment will destroy the remaining enemies that we don't."

"I'm sorry to sound pessimistic, but the one thing I do understand is that we are probably _completely_ outnumbered. Apparently, those viruses have been breeding like rabbits," Sentry 183734 countered. "How do they expect only six of you to get the job done?"

The other program looked on ahead. "To be honest…this mission really only needs one."

* * *

That didn't make sense.

None of this made any sense.

How is it that their leader could have abandoned them?

That is what the rookie thought as the group bunkered down in their makeshift fort. Thankfully, the impromptu dugout was embedded underneath a few feet of snow, so it was a little bit more hospitable than outside due to the natural insulation. Unfortunately, that feature did nothing to improve the lighting conditions. Outside had been blanketed in no more than an eerie grey hue, like something out of a dilapidated silent film. Underground, it felt even gloomier. Furthermore, the warmth also encouraged the onset of humidity. Cramped and damp. It felt as if it was beginning to corrupt his very programming….

The newcomer was introduced to the fifth member of the group, who was also pretty mute. He only nodded politely before resuming his motionless state, cross-legged on the frosty moist earth. Deimos took the gesture as an opportunity to gibe: "What's wrong Umbra? I thought you liked making new friends!" The other simply glanced at him. Again, the guest could not read his expression, but he definitely had sensed a malevolent vibe.

"So where is the boss?"

"Guess he is still out."

"Figures."

"Deimos, he'll be back."

"Obviously! I just don't like this idea of literally throwing him into the lion's den."

"None of us like it. But, he made a compelling argument: fewer hands spoil the stew."

"You and your damn—"

"So, what? Your 'boss' doesn't have a nickname?"

The last voice was that of Sentry 183734.

Deimos and Kratos were at full attention. "What?" the former asked. Their guest folded his arms. "I already scanned the entire group to confirm what you told me earlier. As I was told prior to my departure, Sentry 136825 is undetectable. I can only assume that this is the 'boss' that you speak of. He hasn't been graced with a nickname of his own?" Again, Deimos took the bait. "You're starting to get rather cheeky, aren't you?"

"Our leader doesn't need a…nickname. He has a proper one…aside from the ID. To be honest, we never communicate to one another with those strings of numbers. So, we wouldn't even recognize his. It's just easier to call him 'boss' anyway," Kratos said. After folding his arms, he added: "You should know that."

Sentry 183734 shrugged. "Pray tell, why would I—"

A hand erupted through the ground at his feet!

Caught unawares, the sentry screamed and threw up his hands in alarm. The appendage hovered for a moment, as if assessing its new surroundings. It then dropped and began clawing at the ground, leaving lengthy recesses in its wake. The guest, at a loss for words, immediately deployed his weapon. He aimed at the intruder.

"_Is this…one of the viruses!? Did…did they find out where we are?!"_

The remainder of the hand oozed out of the crude opening, gradually slithering along the moist ground….

"_W-was it because of me!? Did they track us down because of _**_me_**_?!"_

Long digits crept closer and closer, as if stalking an unwary prey….

"_I'm such an idiot! Since the others had no choice but to issue a manhunt for me, they put themselves at risk of bein—"_

"Oh, look. Speak of the Devil."

The newcomer froze. He glanced up at Kratos. Then, his attention returned to the mysterious arm, fully extended along the ground and flailing about in a fashion no better than that of a beached salmon.

"B-BOSS?!" the Sentry blurted.

The arm finally caught a firm grip. The weakened surface gave way and out of the ever expanding hole quickly appeared another arm. Then, a head…and a torso….

The new arrival was hunched over, apparently exhausted from his ascent to the surface. Panting, he crawled on his elbows, pulling the remainder of his body out. It proved difficult since the snow was quickly being displaced by the force. "Now I know what it feels like to be a mole," he said. In the meantime, the confused guest took this as an opportunity to observe this individual. He was built in a fashion similar to that of the rest of the group, including the helmet and armor design, except that he sported no face visor. But, what really struck a chord was that camouflaged pattern that decorated his plating versus that of the lovely monochromatic hue the others sported.

"_He has a…unique appearance that distinguishes him…." _

That's right!

Wait.

That auburn hair and crimson ey—

"Put that thing down before you take someone's eye out." An order.

The guest inadvertently hunched over, dazed. "Eh?"

Suddenly, a powerful force took told of his weapon arm. In one motion Sentry 183734 found himself knocked off balance and hurled to the ground. When he finally came to grips with his new perspective, he discovered his only line of defense immobilized under a constant supply of pressure. The program turned to note one foot that had taken root atop. The other was adjacent to his midriff. Finally, he looked up at the crouched being that loomed over him…and became engaged in a staring contest that he wished he could soon forget! The same haunting figure now harbored an air of suspicion about his cold features. If looks could kill….

"Sir, he is a stray we found wandering outside." It was Deimos' voice, surprisingly stern.

Their leader eyed the weapon underneath his foot. "A stray with a bite that's worse that it's bark," he muttered under his breath. Then, his gaze snapped back to the captive. "State your directive."

The guest finally found his voice. "S-Sentry 183734, sir. I've been sent here by headquarter—"

"Of course. They want quick results without any effort whatsoever," his captor grumbled, averting his gaze.

"A-actually, I am here just for verification. They lost track of Sentry 136—"

A dismissive wave cut him off. "Please. Don't. Bad enough hearing it from diagnostics every single time." The boss sighed.

Not meaning to point but the guest's free hand moved on its own. "Y-You're—"

"Sir, what is the status on the other side?" Kratos butted in.

Another sigh. "It's just as bad as we had anticipated. But, there might be a way to close the rift without arousing too much suspicion." He rose, releasing the guest's arm in the process. Accordingly, Sentry 183734 retracted his weapon. But, he refrained from getting up. "This path will lead us as close to that point as possible," their leader continued, gesturing at the hole. "I had to make sure to that the viruses couldn't track us back here." The others nodded. "So, if you all are rested up, let's move." His subordinates complied silently, each making their way into the opening. However, the outsider remained on the ground. He said nothing.

Umbra was the last to enter. Afterwards, the boss turned to address the newcomer. "What are you waiting for?"

The guest was obviously confused. "Me? My assignment isn't—"

"Yes it is." A simple statement, yet its delivery left no room for argument. "You would not have been equipped with _this_—" the leader brandished his weapon, an almost identical model to the rookie's "—unless your second objective was to lend a helping hand." His arm returned to normal. The other program was left speechless. "You have the same—"

"I am assuming that yours is the latest model that has been in development for some time. Before they issue the upgrades to me, they usually test them on…less critical specimens," his superior continued.

Wait a minute.

"I'm sorry to say it soldier but…you're a guinea pig."

* * *

"_Bull! Not even a bat could navigate through this place! It was a wonder how _**_that_**_ guy even made it through_," Sentry 183734 thought as he wriggled through the narrow tunnel. There was barely enough space for him to see where he was going. The seven programs trekked through the passageway at a steady pace. Deimos was at the head while their newest member held the rear, right behind Sentry 136825…better known as simply "boss". _"So now that I have found him. I really should be getting in contact with headquarters." _Simple. "_But, I can't!" _Interference due to his location underground might be the culprit. So for now he was just soldier number seven…better known as the weaponry "guinea pig". "Absolutely ridiculous," Seven grumbled privately. Or so he thought. "There's no reason to get offended," a voice replied from ahead. It was the boss. "Field tests like this are normal. There are probably a couple dozen that have been equipped with the same weaponry program. It's just to verify its performance in an actual combat scenario." At this point, Seven didn't really care if he was being insubordinate. He stopped. "And what if it isn't 'successful'? I'm completely screwed!?" A delayed response made him reconsider his choice of language. But, the boss' expression was nonchalant when he paused to take a glance behind. "Trust me. You'll be fine." The boss then resumed crawling.

However, Seven did not.

"I don't understand…Commander." This time, when the boss paused again, he craned his head as best as he could to look behind. "So you had a chance to scan me over. When was it, when you were lying eagle-spread on the ground?" The guest shrugged. "No. The second I saw your head appear out of the rabbit hole," he said. "I thought there was an error when your serial number matched that of my target. Why would they send a mere grunt to check up on someone of your caliber?" Seven bowed his head. "I beg your pardon but…why are _you_ here?" His leader remained silent. Then, he resumed crawling. "You're right. It doesn't make sense, does it?"

End the conversation.

"Sir, how much longer until we reach our destination?" Deimos called out from ahead.

"It won't be much longer. In fact, I think you should be noting a change in your surroundings very soon," his superior replied.

"You mean that we will be able to see where we are going," Kratos said.

Their leader apparently ignored that statement. "When we reach the end, exit quickly. The longer we take, the better the chance of being noticed." In response, Umbra gestured toward their destination. "How close will we be to the rift?"

"Pretty close."

"Pretty close, eh?!" Deimos snapped.

When the group had finally arrived to the end of the tunnel, Deimos began to carry out his next order without hesitation. However, the moment his head disappeared through the opening, it immediately flew back in.

Kratos stepped in. "Just hurry up and get out Deimos!"

The disgruntled solider growled. "There is no way—"

"Don't even think about it!" the boss called out sternly.

"This terrain is terrible! They could catch wind of us at any time!" Deimos cried. Seven noted the boss' brisk nod. "Good. Such close proximity is the last thing they will anticipate." Then, a broad fist slammed into the ground. "Now get out! Or so help me I will blow everyone out of this tunnel!" he growled. "Apply the patch before we are noticed." Seven observed the exchange of words silently. "The others appear…accustomed to you," he smugly commented. Then, he caught sight of piercing glare the boss threw over his shoulder. The Sentry quickly added: "I-I only mean that you all seem to communicate well with one another!" After an excruciating minute of tense silence, his superior resumed his attention forward with a lengthy sigh. In response, Seven slumped his shoulders. _"Guess I'm off the hook." _Immediately afterward, the weary team rushed out of the hole like mice, scurrying about on all fours to stay as low to the ground as possible.

Deimos quickly surveyed their situation.

The landscape here was no different to where he and the others had salvaged their newest recruit…save for the rift. The distortion was blatant: a large red gash disrupted the monochromatic decor, as if someone had hastily taken a pair of scissors to the fabric of this dimension. Its frayed edges appeared to be unstable, an occasional bolt of energy, sporting a striking electric blue, danced along its length. Deimos slowly nodded. "Well…would you look at that." Kratos nudged him. "Keep quiet," he hissed. Then, he gestured at Umbra. "You ready?" The program nodded and then briskly scuttled towards the disturbance. Seven could tell that he was nervous from his gait. Suddenly, a voice erupted through his communication line. "Keep your eyes peeled." It was the boss. "Secure the patch and begin monitoring its progress. You can't leave until it has been completely downloaded." Back at the huddle, Deimos quickly approached his superior. "What do we do if another one of _them_ crawls from out of that thing?" The boss' expression was grim. "I go in and retrieve our isolated member. You and the others cover us. After everyone has been rounded up…we abort." Deimos was taken back. "But, we've come all this way!" His commander twisted to face him. "I won't risk casualties!" he gritted through is teeth. "If _anything _comes out of that portal, guess what it's going to notice first!? It would only be a matter of time before its friends are alerted."

His eyes quickly broke away to scan the area. "The six of you will return to the haven. I will leave the area last."

"What?!" Kratos rammed in between the two. "Are you—"

It must have been only his imagination. But, Kratos could have sworn that he had just angered a demon with the way the boss' eyes smoldered. "Do it." Umbra's voice disrupted the tense atmosphere. "Sir, the patch is being downloaded." The boss turned away from the other two to address him. "Good. Just concentrate on—"

His voice died.

From behind, he could have sworn he heard a faint gagging noise. "What was that?" he whispered, more to himself than the others nearby. He heard it again. Deimos let out a growl of frustration. "What is that!?" The leader's head twisted from side to side. "Where is Number Seven?" A shuffling noise from behind marked his presence. "I'm right behind you," Seven mouthed, adjacent to the other silent member of the group. The boss then glanced at Kratos, Deimos. "That's two more," he said. "Six is at the rift. Two, Three, Five, and Seven are with me." He looked around again and simultaneously activated his radio. "Where is number four?" Kratos did the same. "He was just here. Left my conversation with him to rush over to you, sir." Then, Kratos turned away to address their missing member through the link. "Number Two to Four, do you read me?" Right on cue, the gagging noise resurfaced…but not through the communication line. "Damn. That noise again!? I can't detect anything nearby aside from us!" Deimos growled. "Correction," Kratos said. "Everyone but Number Four…."

The boss gave instructions for the two to keep watch on Umbra and their route of escape while he scanned the local area in more detail. In the meantime, Seven had already broken away to begin scouring on his own. Number Four: the anonymous program that he had conversed with while returning to the haven. Seven had seen him leave the hole and he had been practically adjacent to him the entire time. Why? Why would he suddenly disappear without a trace? Seven had even witnessed him exchanging words with Kratos. "Where are you?" he sighed. This was supposed to have been a straightforward assignment. Seven should have left by now. Despite what the boss said, this **wasn't** his mission. Why was he suddenly being thrown into this entire mess!? The guest crawled through the grey slush taking in the barren wasteland as far as the eye could see. No sign of those monsters. Speaking of which….

He hesitated before opening his communication link. "So where is this enemy?"

"We have bigger things to worry about at the moment," Kratos growled in reply.

"Obviously, but I never was informed abou—"

Number Seven had been distracted by his conversation, oblivious to where he was going, when his outstretched palm brushed over something hard. He immediately retracted his hand, initially noting only more snow underneath. "Hey…Hey number Seven!" Kratos' voice cried out. "You still there?" The guest did not mean to ignore him but for some reason he was completely transfixed by his discovery. "It could just be a rock or something," he muttered to himself. "S-Seven? What happened?!" Kratos again. His tone was more urgent this time. Cautiously, Seven wiped away the obstructing snow to reveal a smooth metallic surface that his fingers had registered. Quickly, he brushed away more reveali—

"Why weren't you answering you idiot!" The boss had snuck up from behind. "Are you trying to scare the living daylights out of everyone?!" However, instead of the usual weak counter, the guest remained silent. Frozen. "Hey! Didn't you hear me?!" The leader clamped onto his shoulder and shook. "What the hell are you—"

Uncovered from the snow was the head of Number Four.

A moment later it digitized.

"Boss." Seven turned towards him, expecting immediate orders as to their next move.

He regretted it immediately.

The Commander was only known through word of mouth. Very few had personally met him. Yet, he was never glorified into some ridiculous spectacle. He was just the boss. The person who demanded their respect and rightfully so. He was the one that they turned to for guidance. Their tactician. Their leader….

So who was this person? Sporting such an uncharacteristic expression of horror. Nauseated. His frame racked with tremors. Seven immediately recollected his basic programming: if there is one thing that must _always _be upheld when in combat it would be to never express fear. That is the first step towards defeat. Surely, no one ever mentioned that to this imposter! There had to be a mistake. _"This person. Just a few moments ago he was…."_

The boss' personality had not been far off from what Seven had imagined: dogmatic and distant. His first encounter with the sniper confirmed such. But, he had felt something was off. That rigid appearance. It was just a front. The mask had begun to slip long before Seven had arrived and something else was going on that the others had failed to disclose to him. He just knew that he was right about this….

"_Just make sure that he stays…in one piece."_

Wait.

That operator had made that request. But, why? Why now of all times? Seven had done his best to ignore that statement as it continuously resurfaced in his logic programming. Why would a lowly grunt like him be bestowed the responsibility of looking out for a superior? A _commander _no less! This guy was certainly capable of defending himself from a threat, much more than the remaining group combined. Therefore, that statement should have been directed at _him_, not this behemoth! Which lead to another issue: how the boss had responded to his inquiry. It didn't make sense. If this guy was more than capable of taking care of himself, why were six other programs accompanying him? They were not acting as bodyguards, that's for sure. They were simply following orders. He could have come here alone and installed the patch by himself. Such a strategy would have proved more successful, especially in terms of stealth. Instead, there were seven…no… six targets scurrying around like insects. The guest's undivided attention had remained on the boss during this eternal rant. He watched the other solider spread his hands out along the moist frigid surface. Slowly, they seeped underneath and slid towards the resting place of their fallen comrade. Seven began to become agitated. _"What is he doing? It's time for the contingency plan! We need to get out of here!"_ He knew that he was about to break his own commandment but didn't care. Never mind keeping up appearances. They were all in danger. Whatever had gotten Four was still around…stalking its next victim. The newcomer tore his attention away from the boss for a moment to scan the area. Seven was never indulged further regarding the viruses. He wished he had done so earlier when the opportunity arose. Otherwise, there was no indication of anything else here. If the "monsters" were nearby, he couldn't tell. Eventually, Seven returned his attention on the boss, who now pained with disbelief. Those Stages were rampantly surfacing. This was getting ridiculous. "Boss," Seven hissed. "Boss, snap out of it!" But, the leader simply bowed his head, obstructing his face from view. He shook it mournfully. Seven grasped the nearest shoulder plate. "We need to move," he nearly growled. The newcomer was aware he was crossing a line but this wasn't the time for formalities.

"One already gone."

Seven leaned closer. "What?"

"I couldn't—"

"BOSS!"

Too loud.

Red was very vibrant and intimidating color, associated with emotions like belligerence, hatred, and destruction. Seven had come to realize that quickly when he was easily overpowered, forced to peer into those crimson pools. He had been ready to bolt and never return, thinking: _"If this is how he treats a comrade, I'd hate to be his enemy."_ But, such a color was even more disturbing when associated with fear. A child whimpering in the dark. That was the best comparison Seven could make when those eyes flashed upon him. Everything was wrong! He never wanted to be here. That was supposed to be simple. He should have returned by now, safe and sound. But where was he? Trapped by an invisible enemy with one member already deleted and his boss two steps from falling into a pit of despair. Seven, wasn't anything special. He knew this. Just one of many constructed for combat. He accepted his fate as …dare he say it…most likely becoming cannon fodder. But, being given such a responsibility…damn that operator! He wasn't meant for this kind of thing! But, no matter how much he wanted to scream himself mute, shower everything around him with bullets, and run away from this place until his legs gave way, he knew that there was still a mission to be completed. And, more importantly, he had a request to fulfill. "He told me to make sure you stay in one piece," Seven carefully began, as if unconfident of his own words.

"Don't leave us."

The boss eyed him fearfully, as if he had fallen right before his eyes as well. Then, the sniper swallowed. The grim line of his mouth hinted at confusion but he remained silent, averting his gaze to scan the ground for some sort of response. Without tearing his eyes away, the commander muttered: "Get the others back to base. After, contact operations for an emergency exit." Seven was ready to blow their cover once more. "BUT—"

Those belligerent eyes resurfaced.

His voice fled.

Then, he slowly released his grip about the sniper's shoulder. Said hand dropped to the ground, as if robbed of its vigor. Seven hung his head as he quietly complied. "Yes, sir." Then, he crawled away, as if heading a mournful procession. He had to be the bearer of bad news to the others, announcing that one of their own had passed and they were all in immediate danger. He should have been moving at a faster pace. He should be panicking. He should have opened every single communication line and blared at the others to break into a full run for the exit.

He should have done so many things differently….

But, that was then.

This is now.

Instead of clawing through slush like a wounded beast, he stood tall. A domineering stance; hands firmly clasped behind his back and feet planted firm. He sensed the presence of his six subordinates behind him: a monochromatic row of grey and black, feet together and arms held rigidly at their sides. They had been waiting. Not for long, of course. But, since they were on assignment, punctuality was necessary. This time they would be serving as escorts, so to speak, to two rather miserable looking individuals before him. Not that Seven could blame them. This situation wasn't exactly on friendly terms, given the objective. But, these two emitted such to their very core. Even their aura reeked of depression. Or at least one of them did.

Hard to tell what the taller one was thinking given the obscure visor that sported his red and white headgear.

It was the _other _one. Oh, yes. He _definitely _didn't take kind to this entire ordeal. Just one glance of those emerald eyes made it obvious. More so his apparent slouched posture, obstructed from view by that unwieldy shielding program draped about him like a cloak fashioned from the thickest wool. Perhaps he was simply overwhelmed by the excess data he had to process just to simply move. After all, that program was designed without much concern for performance. Not a "one-size-fits-all", so to speak, which probably explained why nothing more than a dead stare with blue and yellow-patterned crown were visible. Whatever the case, he was not happy to be here or see the escort team. The foreigner peered at them as if lost in the recesses of his own boredom: half-lidded lifeless eyes barely left Seven. The escort leader couldn't even tell if he was just the object of an awkward amount of attention or if the program had gone into standby from prolonged inactivity. His partner appeared more attentive…but less welcoming. Only other noticeable feature was the thin sharp line that comprised a mouth. He stood erect, apparently unfazed by the heavy accessory that also cloaked his frame. By Seven's standards, their visual cues were definitely flamboyant. But they were apparently personal models, not (necessarily) designed for combat situations like what he was programmed for. Hence, the cloaks. A mere two minutes in this inhospitable hell would prove impossible for any entity that was not reinforced accordingly. The data in this area was unstable, easily resulting in corruption and ultimately deletion if left unattended. But this place was so familiar to Seven that he did not even think twice about venturing in. He never did so when he first arrived all those months ago. He surely wasn't going to start now. Last time, there had been more serious matters at hand….

Just like now.

Seven saluted the pair. His subordinates followed suit.

"I am Sharo military sentry number 183734. My team and I will be at your assistance for the duration of this mission." He paused for introductions from the pair.

No response.

Suppressing a sigh, he continued. "My team has assigned two objectives for this mission: First, as guides towards this abandoned network previously utilized by the military research and development facilities."

He paused.

"Secondly, to assist in the tracking and successful apprehension of military sentry number 136825…program designation SearchMan .EXE"

* * *

R&R

LOTS

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES

I'm not dead.

Thanks to RegalAngel18 for beta.

To those of you who have been waiting for an update: I apologize. I decided to go back and update a few elements in these earlier chapters that I don't believe I portrayed properly. Primarily since the next chapter in the storyline would be impacted. Hence, the major plot has not changed, with the exception of a new original character and abandoning some sub-plots I was considering, just its presentation. With that said, I am abandoning the inclusion of Insert chapters. I felt they were giving too much of the story away.

For those of you who are reading this story for the first time: Welcome.

Also, Kratos and Deimos stem from Greek mythology. One is the persona of strength. While the other, the son of Ares, symbolizes the fear and dread of combat.


	2. Logos

The Leopard's Apprentice

By

Lady of the Shire

* * *

Chapter 1

Logos

* * *

_DISCLAIMER: MegaMan NT Warrior and all related entities are the property of ShoPro, Viz Media, Ryo Takamisaki, and related partners._

* * *

_48 hours earlier…._

Drip.

The rain fell.

Down windows.

On small emerald leaves and soaked into the dark earth below. It collected in tangerine and brick red colored pails. Accumulated on freshly painted cream window sills before it cascaded over the edges. Stress fractures in the concrete, signs of longevity were drowned instantly. It pelted off roofs and metallic surfaces, sloshing out of depressions adjacent to curbs with the passage of a vehicle. Then, the rhythmic pang of droplets erupted into an applause. At least a billion strong. The onset of the humidity only confirmed the miserable downpour that was about to ensue. But it didn't matter, because at the height of the day, regardless of the elements, business went on as usual in Sharo. Especially at the central military base. The facility was located fifty miles from the metropolitan area, composed of twelve facilities arranged in a semi-circular formation which gradually expanded to cover over 40 acres of land. The buildings shared a similar architectural design. However, there were distinct visual cues given that the time between the construction of each group was more than that of a decade. For instance, the main building and the immediate surrounding structures were the largest, originally designed to accommodate as a series of emergency shelters. The outer hallways of the central portion were wide, constructed with walls of steel-reinforced concrete. However, over time that function was incorporated underground, which expanded toward the outer edge of the facility. The only purpose they served at the moment was for their gray hue to complement the dreary atmosphere outside. However, the line of fluorescent lighting brightly illuminated its interior, establishing a sharp contrast. Lan Hikari found himself counting the number of fixtures that had passed above his head. He and fellow Net Savior, Chaud Blaze, had been summoned for an audience with a number of officers currently stationed at the base. The two boys walked at a brisk pace down the hallway as they followed their escort through the main building. Lan observed the size of the hallway the two were being led down.

"Big place."

Chaud scoffed. "What were you expecting, a hole in a wall?"

They continued on in silence, while they tried their best to keep track of the many turns they took.

As they made what appeared to be their final turn, Lan couldn't help but recollect on their conversation from earlier….

_The Commissioner was informed first._

_Email._

_Vaguely written, yet explicit with urgency. Even more surprising was the specific request for two particular officers. Within a week, the pair was already en route to their next mission, on bullet train scheduled to arrive within less than two hours. Two hours. Two hours of wondering what could possibly be so secretive that such detailed instructions as to their manner of arrival to the base were included in their summons: from documentation for proper clearance to securing further transport from the city once they had arrived at the train terminal. Nothing was left assumed. The entire situation seemed dire…._

_But, that was two hours from now. And as with no information to debrief themselves on their assignment, there was only one thing to do: eat. Whether it had been a blessing or a curse that their scheduled train had fallen within the lunch-time buffet hours would be left for another time to decide. For Lan, there was no argument. As for Chaud…._

"_Please don't devour all of the train's food. I know that it is all-you-can-eat but—"_

"_But nothing!" The brunette exclaimed in between inhaling a mouthful of broccoli casserole and an entire buttered dinner roll. "We need…to keep up our strength for the next…job." A fist gripped tightly around a broad fork collided into the table top. "That is the embodiment of our resolve!" Lan then triumphantly raised said silverware into the air. His partner was unimpressed. "You keep that up and I will be sure to deny any association with you when they kick you out of the dining car." The other boy swallowed and straightened in his chair. "Don't be such a stiff!" After, he stabbed another square of casserole. "You know what you need more of Chaud?" The fork stopped inches from the older teen's face, casserole threatening to slip out between the skewers. "More iron. Good for you. Makes more red blood cells." Chaud simply stared at the fork in front of him and then the person at the other end of its reach. "And that means more oxygen will get to your brain," the brunette smugly added. The teen swatted the fork away with his own. "I don't need a science lesson from you. Furthermore, did it ever occur to you that I might not be the one who is necessarily oxygen deprived?" Lan was able to save his precious casserole in time and shoved it into his mouth. "Rude," he muttered through a filter of mashed potatoes and minced vegetable. In the meantime, Chaud quietly continued cutting into his chicken breast. "You know what happens when you eat too much iron right?" inquired a third voice from Lan's side of the table. When the salt-and-pepper hair teen glanced up from his plate, he had to stifle a snort. The brunette was frozen, wide-eyed like frightened game and a large piece of broccoli protruding from his mouth. His vision slowly trailed down to his hip. After a moment of silence, the remainder of the vegetable disappeared into his mouth. He swallowed. "Yes?" But the tone of his answer was questionable. Unfortunately, his "voice of reason" picked up on that. "You know, I think the infirmary can supply Milk of Magne—" _

_Chaud flung down his utensils. "For God's sake, Lan. Can you __**please**__ remind your 'conscience' of where we are?!"_

"_Hey!" the voice cried. "You don't know what I had to endure for almost three days! Three—"_

_It was subtle but a hand swiftly dropped a fork, full with skewered food, and slipped under the table. When it resurfaced, Lan immediately continued his meal, relishing the silence. Chaud gave out a sigh of relief. "I swear he is worse than you sometimes." The brunette, fully engaged in his meal, only muttered: "That's pot calling kettle." His friend glared at him but resumed eating without another word. He paused. Then, his gaze trailed down his own side. The "conscience" housed away in its own terminal resting on his hip had been unusually mute today, despite still having free privilege. Usually he would have heard some sort of blunt quip to counter the last statement by now. He continued to stare. "Something wrong?" The boy's eyes snapped away at the sound of Lan's voice. He stared intensely at him for a moment before he relaxed. "No." The two continued their meal in silence for some time, even with Chaud biting back the urge to comment on the seconds that the other boy returned with after cleaning his plate. Something like, "if you keep eating like that, I'll have to roll you off the train" or something as cliché as that came to mind. But, for some reason, it didn't seem appropriate at this time. Something about this ride felt ominous. It was hard not to think about they would have to face less than two hours from now. Especially since—_

"_Wonder why Raika hasn't been in contact with us yet." _

_Sigh._

_Yeah, that._

_Chaud paused, musing over his reply. "Probably busy." _

"_Too busy to say hello?" added MegaMan. Lan's face blanched with horror. He twisted down to look at his side, utensils poised in mid-air. "I __**muted**__ you!" A snort. "Yeah. That's like me making you swear not to eat for the rest of your life." The brunette rolled his eyes in apathy and shook his head at his lunch-mate before resuming his meal. "Though I hate to admit it, he has a point," the boy added, throwing in a rather threatening glare at the terminal. "There was no mention of him at all in any info we were given. Not even the Commissioner understood what that meant." Chaud appeared unfazed. "Like I said." But a sharp look of disapproval from across the table elicited a sigh. "Things haven't been…in the best state around this region for some time." Lan provided no additional comment. Politics. Such things were beyond his understanding. That was for the adult world. Instability and unrest only translated to a brief mention on the evening news. Usually somewhere far away from home. Very far. Like where he was traveling to at this moment. _

_Suddenly, he had lost his appetite. _

_His partner noticed the clamor of utensils. He paused, his own slightly poised above his plate. The brunette slumped back into his chair and stared into his lap. "I'm not going to lie. I don't understand half of what I've been hearing lately. To be honest, I really didn't care." He shrugged. "But…I wouldn't wish that sort of stuff on anyone. Especially—"_

"_He's fine, Lan," Chaud's steely tone caught is attention. "The last thing he wants is someone like __**you**__ worrying about him. That would piss him off to no end."_

* * *

Lan agreed. "Yeah, he can take care of himself." But, he grew annoyed at the hint of doubt harbored in his voice. Meanwhile, the escort had opened the door to the conference room, beckoning the two to pass through the threshold. However, Lan remained frozen. The junior officer waited patiently for a few seconds to take note of any response from the brunette. Unfortunately, when none came, he began to grow concerned if the kid had fallen into some sort of trance. "Excuse me…Sir?" the soldier politely asked.

No response.

Soon, that blank expression on the boy's face, staring onward through the open door, elicited an annoyed expression from the escort. "SIR!" Lan was snapped back to reality. He looked up, only to be greeted by a disapproving glance. "Oh, sorry," he replied sheepishly. Once the boy had passed through, the soldier let out a sigh of relief. Then, he quickly shut the door behind him and flew down the hallway as fast as he could. If _those _gentlemen have gathered in one place, then it would be wise to be nowhere within the _building _when they began….

Scanning around, Lan took in the number of rather disgruntled and stern expressions plastered across the faces of the various officials in the low-lit conference room. There were five men sitting at a long rectangular conference desk that appeared to be able to seat three times as many people. All five were seated towards the other end of the table, furthest from the entrance. Two officers sat on each side while one, who appeared to be the youngest of the group, sat at the head. Just from surveying their appearances, Lan had already concluded that a majority of these men had already surpassed whatever the current life expectancy dictated, save for the man in the center. Yet, it could have just been the lighting…or maybe stress. If the boy were in their shoes, he would have preferred the (lack of) lighting to be the cause. "Glad to see that everyone is now present and accounted for," announced the gentlemen at the head of the table as the boys took their seats. Lan took note of his appearance as the man called everyone's attention. He had dark auburn hair, neatly combed, and no beard. He was probably in his late 40s. The man adjusted his narrow rectangular frames as his brown eyes scanned the room and straightening his posture in the large conference chair. "With respect to our guests," the officer gestured towards the two boys sitting a few seats away, "allow me to introduce myself. I am Lieutenant General William Mensch. To my left are Brigadier General Grant and Major General Mason," he continued, motioned towards the dark-skinned man and salt-and-pepper haired individual, respectfully. "On my right, Colonel and Lieutenant Colonel Stark and Mayfield are seated." Stark, the balding gentleman, gave a brisk nod while Mayfield bowed his head, causing a gleam from the neatly arranged LED lighting to reflect off of the side of his frames.

Afterwards, Mensch laced his fingers and rested his arms on the table. "In turn, gentleman, these two are—"

"Yes, yes. We are well aware who these two are," interrupted Mason, waving a hand the Lieutenant General.

"Their reputation precedes them. Otherwise, they would not be seated in this room with the rest of us," commented Grant, eyeing the two boys.

Chaud maintained his calm composure. On the other hand, his partner had an expression that seemed to express a dire urge to vomit crossed with an embarrassing itch. _"What the crap?!" _Lan thought to himself. _"Is it possible to insult and compliment someone at the same time?!"_ Chaud only glanced at Lan's expression before speaking up. "We appreciate your hospitality," he stated. "We will do our best to assist in any way possible." On the other hand, his friend remained silent, brooding over the meaning of "hospitality." "We thank you for taking time out of your schedules to assist us in this matter," Mensch cordially replied, slightly bowing in his seat towards the two. He then continued. "In front of each of you is an archive of information relating to sentry number 136825. On Monday at approximately 07:00 hours, records indicated that sentry number 136825 had not appeared for scheduled diagnostics. Further investigation revealed that attempts were made to contact the sentry within an additional one-hour period after the initial alert, but to no prevail. Consequently, network locators began scanning for it's electronic signature. First, attempts were made to scan only the immediate area. When no matches were found, the search was eventually expanded to the entire regional network." Mayfield spoke up while reading a page in the folder. "What were the results of those scans?" he asked. Mensch was hesitant. "There…was no match."

"So you are basically trying to tell us that it has disappeared completely," interrupted Stark.

"No," sternly replied Mensch. "I never said it completely disappeared."

"Then what exactly is the problem here, William?!" the Colonel snapped, "If you haven't noticed we have a…"

He paused for a second after glancing at the boys "…more pressing matter to attend to," Stark slowly replied.

"The problem is _where _the signal has been located, isn't it Lieutenant General," said Mason . "Yes," replied Mensch. "The signature was recorded under NET 24GH86-C464, more commonly referred to as—"

"The Valley of the Moon."

All heads turned in the direction of the speaker.

"I thought that the military suspended that region. Isn't it more of an obsolete server used in the past by your Research and Development," Chaud quietly asked. A section of the room remained collected. Another fraction appeared to be either absolutely livid or astonished. The final segment (i.e. Lan) was just simply confused. Major General Grant was the first to speak. "How the hell—"

"I apologize, Major General. I realize that information isn't meant to be public," interrupted the young man. "But if our assistance is desired, it would be necessary that we have access to _any _relevant information." Chaud matched Grant's gaze, unnerving. Mensch decided that it might be best to step back into the conversation, upon seeing Grant's difficulty to suppress his ever growing annoyance. "T-That would be correct. We apologize for not disclosing that sort of information prior to your arrival," the Lieutenant General cordially announced in Grant's place. "Nonetheless, we would not want our security to mistake you as undesirables." In turn, Chaud nodded slowly. "We understand. However, since we are technically civilians, there is the complication that even with proper clearance it would have been difficult and time consuming to obtain such information through the proper channels." "_Visiting _civilians," Grant narrowed his eyes. The young man eyed the general. "Major General Grant, with all due respect, if you feel as if our assistance in this matter does not require that we are granted certain _privileges_, then…"

Grant had reached his limit.

This entire matter was ridiculous in his eyes. To make matters worse, he had to entertain such impudence, he thought. Grant returned the boy's gaze with a sharp glare as he shot up out of his seat. He opened his mouth to retort. "LOU!" An unfamiliar voice bellowed from the entrance. Everyone turned abruptly in response. "I realize that I am late but do you really have to be so upset that you're going to leave so soon?!" whined the gentleman at the door. Grant's face was etched with a mixture of confusion and embarrassment upon hearing his nickname. "Major General Verstand…please, do not refer to me by that name," he sighed in defeat. "Oh, you can be so stiff when you wish to be _Louis_," Verstand grumbled before striding into the conference room.

The door closed behind him.

"I hope he isn't giving you two a hard time," Verstand said to the two boys. "Apparently, he can be rather cross when he has to go without lunch—"

"ALDRICH!" Grant snapped, pounding his fist on the thick table surface.

"I do apologize for my rudeness…Lou," Verstand added before flopping down in an empty seat next to Lan. He gave the boy a warm smile before directing his attention to the rest of the group. "Well then, what did I miss?" In response, Mensch decided to introduce the newcomer to the two. "This is Major General Aldrich Verstand, the head of the military's medical—"

"And apparently, where he doesn't belong!" completed Grant, eyeing Verstand intensely. The Major General made a face. "That's rather cruel," he muttered. "We were just discussing the desertion," stated Mensch. "Oh, yes." Verstand laced his fingers on the table. "Rather unfortunate, actually. Especially, in light of recent events, I feel as if I hold some sort of responsibility for this matter as well. Have there been any updates on the whereabouts of the program?" he inquired. Mensch shook his head. "No, not yet. I was just bringing the two investigators up to speed with what has happened before you arrived, Major General." Verstand frowned. "Well they certainly aren't fulfilling their duties by sitting in here, are they? What else is there to discuss upon the appearance of the signal in the Valley?" he inquired. Mensch frowned. "Well, there is one more thing." He straightened himself before continuing. "It appears that there may be a possibility that the deserter's status might be elevated to a possible threat. Early this morning, the four post-recon units relayed their final report. Only one returned."

An oppressing silence immediately fell over the table.

After a few moments, Mayfield was the first to speak. "Destroyed? As in the deserter—"

"Yes, Julius…that's what the phrase "destroyed" usually means," answered Verstand with a hardened tone.

Mayfield rolled his eyes at him, only to extract a frown from the Major General.

In the meantime, Lan had yet to contribute during the entire ordeal. All this talk about valleys and diagnostics was just going through one ear and out the other. He wanted to stay attentive but it was difficult when nothing made sense! So, he decided that he should at least open the manila folder resting in front of him. He leaned forward against the table and began quietly thumbing through the contents with one hand while the other supported his jaw. _It's rather thick_, he mused over pages before retreating to what he assumed was the table of contents. Mensch made a statement but the brunette didn't seem to catch what it was since he had started tuning out the conversation. He then came across the section called "Unit Profile." Lan had noticed that throughout most of the document that he had scanned, there was no detailed information about _who _this "deserter" was. The report only referred to _it _by means of that convoluted identification number. Also, something else. Another disappearance. But, at first glance didn't seem to have anything to do with the current conversation. Some vague references here and there but nothing concrete. Just what exactly was this stupid thing trying to explain?! _"Guess it doesn't hurt to look," _he grimly thought.

"_Let's see, page…24…37...45…."_

He began idly scanning over the wordy literature.

"_Ah…blah…blah…."_

The brunette grimaced. "_I don't know what this crap means." _He thumbed to the next page. _"Neither this." _Another page. _"Nor that."_ Finally, he mirrored Grant's livid expression. _"God! Who wrote this!?" _But, he quickly recovered, trying his absolute best not to broadcast his frustration. It was a losing battle. Gradually, he found it increasingly difficult to keep himself from rolling his eyes. "_Okay, I have one suggestion for these people_: _use plain freaking ENGLISH!" _The brunette then shook his head in disbelief. Luckily, from Mayfield's point of view, Lan appeared to be appalled by the events that had transpired, instead of his incomprehension over the , the brunette straightened his posture. _"Hold up." _ Lan narrowed his eyes at the page. A footnote. It referenced to something…interesting. He flipped quickly to the page, only to be greeted by more tiny print. The boy tried his best not to groan in frustration as he breezed through the contents. A sentence caught his eye. _"Oh! This looks—"_

All the color drained from his face.

Chaud had been attentive to the conversation. Occasionally, he had glanced over to monitor his partner, primarily to ensure he had not fallen asleep. Between another one of Grant's outbursts and Verstand's loquacious quip, the teen took another quick glance to this right and noticed that the folder in front of Lan had been opened. He inwardly shrugged. _"At least he is trying to be studious." _He was about to direct his attention back to the speaker when caught the expression on the brunette's face. With a ridged brow, he glanced down at the page. The print was too small to read easily without making it obvious. Curious, he thumbed through his own copy until he eventually found—

Mensch nodded. "Nonetheless, I believe that we need to wait for the next—"

"Lieutenant General."

Mensch gave his undivided attention to the speaker. "Ah, yes?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt but would you mind clarifying something," the NetSavior asked. The Lieutenant General's vision darted between the teen's expression and the open folder. Instantly, his eyes were downcast, darting nervously. When Mensch abruptly fell silent, Verstand folded his arms and reclined. "William, you didn't tell them." Mensch narrowed his eyes. "I thought they had already been informed." The Major General's eyes widened. "They have only been here for less than two days! You expect them to be aware of such classified information?!" His colleague became defensive. "It pertains to one of their colleagues!"

"EXCUSE ME!"

Finally, Lan made his presence known. "_What_ are you talking about?!" He made sure to place a sharp emphasis on each _t _while trying to keep some sort of professional demeanor. Surprisingly, Chaud was the only one who was unfazed by the outburst. In fact, he had an equally intense expression on his face. Meanwhile, each officer in the room had quickly recovered and eyed the other briefly before redirecting their attention towards the two boys. But, as Mensch opened his mouth Verstand shot up a palm. "No," he shook his head. "I will tell them," the bearded man sighed.

"Since the young man was my subordinate, I will tell them…."

* * *

To be continued…

* * *

R&R

LOTS


	3. The Red Cricle of Error

The Leopard's Apprentice

By

Lady of the Shire

* * *

Chapter 2

The Red Circle of Error

* * *

_DISCLAIMER: MegaMan NT Warrior and all related entities are the property of ShoPro, Viz Media, Ryo Takamisaki, and related partners._

* * *

This sucked.

Plain and simple.

It was difficult for MegaMan to not to let the current situation dampen his mood. But, his sour state had manifested itself well before this predicament. Yesterday. Thanks to a _certain_ restriction on all electronic devices, he and his red associate were...stuck. However, he had no qualms with remaining behind in the hotel room. In fact, he looked forward to it. It would be nice to have some time to muse over his suspicions, especially with ProtoMan. Sure, they couldn't…run about the net for a while to kill time. But, that only gave more impetus for deep conversation. Right?

Two minutes in it was already hopeless.

The swordsman made it VERY clear that he would neither entertain anyone one nor disclose the source of his displeasure; no matter how much MegaMan pleaded. At that point, he was desperate for any form of communication. Just something to appease the colossal amount of boredom that accumulated on his small blue shoulders. At first, he thought he could bear it. Find things to keep him occupied for the day, which was mostly maintenance. Just **anything** that didn't require the internet.

There weren't many options.

That aside, being kept out of the loop quickly became excruciatingly painful. Yet, in the back of his mind he questioned whether his ignorance was either bliss or a curse. If the group had been fully informed of their assignment, he would have spent the entire time brooding. Instead, he didn't know what to think, leaning towards the latter of two evils. Though it would have been nice to see a friendly face from this cold, unforgiving part of the world. Someone who could at least shed a bit of light on this situation. Someone like—

"Guess he can't reach us."

The Navi looked up, tearing his gaze from the floor of his terminal. He turned in the direction of the voice, though he could not see its owner. ProtoMan said nothing more.

Things transitioned from bad to worse by the end of the day. MegaMan had fallen into a daze after a few hours, concentrating only on the droning ambiance of the air conditioner. He had given up on his constructive crusade a long time ago. Idling about in his terminal was the only thing left to do, aside from going insane.

A disturbance at the door!

He snapped back to Earth, just in time to note an orange and black blur collapse onto one of the beds. Lan's face was obscure from view, deep within soft down pillows. His arms sprawled to either side at awkward angles. Lifeless. MegaMan was hesitant to speak. He turned his attention to the other teen who, by this time, had already undocked his fully charged terminal and quickly muttered something about going downstairs for dinner. In a minute, he was gone. So the Navi was left confused and ignored, better company than he had been in all day. He sighed….

* * *

In hindsight, he had been wrong.

Ignorance was most definitely bliss.

Damn this! Everything about this entire ordeal rubbed MegaMan the wrong way: the obscurity, the isolation, and the urgency. Most of all, this stupid cloaking program! It was so cumbersome! He found himself having to waddle just to make two strides, which felt more like a leap of faith given the poor visibility. Ridiculous! Moreover, he was exhausted from the instillation process, wanting nothing more than a full day to recover. Unfortunately, there would be no such luxury. Not anytime soon anyway. Venturing into unknown territory translated to one thing: unrest. No stopping, relaxing, or even a moment to breathe. That is when an individual is most vulnerable. A blatant sign of weakness. So the program had no choice but to schlep around his lethargic state. Such a hindrance.

Such a perfect target.

MegaMan shied away the thought, digging his feet further into the white, moist ground. They felt numb. Half-lidded, sullen eyes scanned over their surroundings for the umpteenth time. A bleached plane, occasionally sporting shades of pewter and onyx: boulders crowned with snow. The clearing spanned for a considerable distance, complete with stone reliefs and deep depressions, as if the land was about to collapse in on itself. Evergreen trees bordered these impromptu valleys, comprised of tall and slender trunks. Their narrow branches bent from the weight of snow topping a plethora of waxy needles, dyed a vibrant forest green. Other colonies existed nearby, but those trees were the most notable. Stone was more prominent amongst the reliefs, jettisoning out of the snow. Less impressive trees appeared from breaks within the bedrock. A slight breeze passed through.

Then they appeared.

Seven. Tall. Domineering. Plated in a heavy grey armor about the chest, joints, legs, and crown while unshielded areas were dyed black. They had no face. The presumed leader of the group stood out from the others, plating a duller shade of forest green and with a slightly different build. Familiar. MegaMan couldn't help but stare. For some reason, the soldier reminded him of—

"I am Sharo military sentry number 183734. My team and I will be at your assistance for the duration of this mission." He saluted. His subordinates followed suit. But the two guests did nothing. The smaller of the pair was frozen in place, his train of thought broken. For a moment, he had almost made a fatal mistake: overlapping this stranger with that of the sniper. That was not true. They were two different individuals. Thisperson before him did not resemble **anyone** that he knew. Yes. That's right. No one. So, the Navi decided to go mute, lest risk blurting out anything else dangerous as a form of greeting. He just stared, taking the subtle glint of the deep green armor plates. The rounded edges. The slight concavity of that encapsulating the forearms. For weapon deployment. Striking slightly above the wrists could impair their usage. The broad encasing about the joints was reinforced. But, patience would be rewarded with a fatal pierce through the vulnerable junction between the knee cap and shin armor. Next, MegaMan eyed the opaque full-face visor. Vision was the most powerful quality, indeed. But, there were blind spots: the center of the crown and the midpoint between the shoulder blades. Few but dangerous, especially if said target was engaged at the time, unbeknownst to an assault sneaking up from behind. It was funny. Such a fortified being appeared to be so…fragile now. The Navi would have thought that these programs were impenetrable. A quick briefing by the military operators destroyed that image. That inner conflict arose in his mind again, ignorance being either bliss or a curse. He had been certain it was the latter. But, now he wasn't so sure. It was disturbing, knowing how to hurt a friend. Learning **all** of his weaknesses. A blatant violation of privacy, to say the least. But, MegaMan would have to memorize them if he wanted to survive.

Without further ado, the team moved forward, following the lead sentry. Apparently, the target had already been located. MegaMan had not been paying attention but he assumed that to be the case. He lingered at the rear, about a foot away from ProtoMan. Somehow, the cloak grew heavier along with his misery, eliciting heavy footfalls with each stride….

Mensch adjusted his wire-frame glasses, as his brown eyes flickered back and forth across the screen before him. "The rouge sentry is armed and dangerous. We are taking full precautions. The team escorting your two programs is no stranger to these types of threats and also have experience with such a hostile environment." He glanced upward in time to note Chaud's subtle nod. "Good. We will need to use all resources at our disposal. Securing a tactical advantage is critical." Mensch's focus was on his reading. "I am impressed of how proactive you two have been under such dire straits." But, then he frowned. Somehow, that subtle action alone appeared to have aged him well beyond his years, decrepit and homely. "Though, it would have been understandable if you had been hesitant. Given the loss of your—"

"Lieutenant General." That was a declaration. Not an order. Nonetheless, Mensch was at full attention. "With all due respect, your intelligence states that our associate is only unaccounted for."

Mensch's eyes widened. But, this time his expression was downtrodden. It's nice to think like that, he thought. Hope. Optimism. Those startling blue eyes had every right to gravitate towards such, given what he has accomplished. Some of which had left Mensch speechless, that a child would be capable of so much. As well as guilty. What right did he or anyone have to cower in the rear and allow children to risk their lives? Though, at this point in time, these two boys were not at risk of any bodily harm. But still, to tear them away from their homes and normalcy to fix matters already out of their control….

What the teen had said was absolutely true. The soldier was only "unaccounted for": infinite shades of grey in terms of his fate. Yet, experience was a potent indicator. Hence, the gentleman was more than qualified to second that statement. Unfortunately, he had yet to approve of such. "Yes, I did say that."

"This is no time to be a defeatist!"

Mensch nearly jumped. Despite the noisy ambiance of the crowded control room, Verstand's voice pierced through, loud and clear. Mensch turned around. "Are you trying to give someone else a heart attack?" The doctor beamed, striding from behind to stand adjacent to his colleague. "No. Just Lou." Then, his expression became grim. "What is our status?" Mensch eyed him for a moment, until he remembered the doctor's innate ability to toggle between the extremes of his emotions in a blink of an eye. "The team is in pursuit as we speak. Target was located." The Lieutenant General didn't even have to look at Verstand's expression to know his expression was severe. "Too easy." The doctor turned away from Mensch, noting the brunette to his right. An eyebrow ridged in anticipation. "He's waiting." Lan was right on cue. His eyes were glued to the video feed displayed on his screen.

Verstand sighed. "This is going to get ugly."

"We still have time to strategize another contingency plan in the event that the target thwarts our previous notions," said Chaud as he reassigned his seat closer to that of the Lieutenant General. "We are definitely walking into a trap. The question is: what kind?" Mensch reclined in his own chair. "Target is capable of multiple covert tactics. Camouflage, concealed explosives, long-range sniping. The program has many options at his disposal." The boy nodded. "Out of all of them, I believe the one to be the most lethal at the moment would be the sniping capabilities. Especially since we are en route to his current location. He could begin an assault once we are within range."

"That is where _we _come into play." Mensch leaned forward to strike a key on his panel. Within moments, a holographic image appeared, somewhat static but stable. The image was that of a humanoid being, plated in dark grey armor encasing the feet, chest, head, shoulders, forearms, knees, and all respective joints. Unshielded areas were black. An opaque black visor was positioned over where a face would have been crafted. The three-dimensional image slowly rotated about a vertical axis. "The Bloodhound Class Sentinels or BCS recently passed beta development, designed primarily for reconnaissance. Their capabilities make them ideal for scouting out malicious entities, whether that be firewalls, rouge and highly contagious virus codes through one special feature." A pointer finger swiftly circled around the head. "The programs were designed with a 270 degree optical viewing range at any point in time but essentially possess an extra sensory range for detecting dangerous entities up to a ten mile radius. In other words, if the target does resort to long-range sniping, the escorts currently traveling with your company will be able to give warning long before the bullets make their mark. This is their most appealing feature since it translates to them tracking enemies without the risk of detection." Mensch struck the same key to close the hologram. "The BCS have exhibited a 97% success rate in controlled combat scenarios and 85% success on actual missions. I feel that they will be the best set of trackers for constant pursuit of a formidable target such as this one." The Lieutenant General strived to exhibit objectiveness at all times with regards to his speech and conduct, a critical trait of a main architect in diplomatic affairs. But he couldn't help but betray some pride in his tone while explaining the capabilities of the BCS. Given that he did organize the project. However, Chaud didn't appear as enthusiastic. He folded his arms. It wasn't hard to guess his opinion. "Impressive." Then, he resumed feverously typing away at his panel. "It will help alongside what I have prepared." Mensch turned his way, eyes less enthusiastic than before. Verstand peered from behind him, struck with pure curiosity. "To be honest, I can't take credit for this one. I only executed the patch but it was Hikari's idea," the teen continued while absorbed in his work. His head slightly gestured towards the brunette seated two seats away from the trio. Lan was mute: a disturbing trend that Chaud had taken note of since Verstand's disclosure yesterday afternoon. Sullen and distant brown eyes were now fully engaged on the screen before him, as if observing the team's trek was the most important thing in the world at this moment. Blaze shook his head to regain focus. "Disabling weapons. Target will most likely be uncooperative upon detainment. Hence, it is critical to ensure that the retrieval team will not be in any danger of retaliation while en route to the rendezvous point." He paused typing. "The patch is simple but should be effective at rendering all the target's weapons useless." Mensch blinked, as if anticipating more information before casting judgment. However, the doctor stroked his white beard inquisitively with a nod of approval.

"There is one catch."

The two officers froze. Chaud continued to stare at his screen. "While the patch is effective, its potency is limited. The target's intricate level of programming is designed to automatically attack malicious code. And I do not possess the capabilities to challenge a product of military research and development." He turned to address the two. Mensch spoke first. "Define 'limited'." Chaud shrugged. "By my calculations…about 15 minutes or so."

"**HAHA!" **

Verstand clapped his hands in amusement, turning away. The sudden gesture took both individuals by surprise, much to Mensch's annoyance. He was a tolerable man. In fact, he was one of the very few who could put up with the doctor for an extended period of time. Which was why Verstand was assigned to diplomatic affairs that required…a swift resolution. "Well, played," the doctor exclaimed as he turned back to address the boy. "So we are under a time crunch, then?" Verstand scratched the back of his head. "Well, if we were under different circumstances, then we might have had time to supplement your patch with some adjustments from our guys but—" he smiled "—I don't think they can hold a candle to you in terms of promptness." The boy blinked, surprised for the compliment. But Mensch simply rolled his eyes at his colleague while tending to the bridge of his nose, sore from extended wear of his glasses. Verstand paid him no mind. "Well, I suppose we will make do with what we have. It's better than trying to drag this beast as it showers the air with bullets, so I see this as a good thing!" he beamed, shrugging his shoulders with palms faced upward in a submissive stance. "It's a good thing that we have knowledgeable outside assistance on this manner!"

The Lieutenant General froze.

He pried open his eyes while releasing the bridge of his nose, vision darting between the doctor and that of the teen. Then, his eyes fell on the boy. Chaud's haunting expression mirrored that of the officer. Their gazes were locked on one another for an uncomfortable amount of time. Mensch finally yielded, averting his eyes. "I'm…sorry to ask this of you two. I understand that if you had a say in this—"

"The result would have been the same." That tone. Cold and distant.

Mensch was at full attention.

"If the target has become a threat to ensuring the stability and well-being of your institution—" azure eyes darted between the two officers "— then it must be eliminated."

The Lieutenant General was taking the time to look at the child again. He couldn't believe his ears. The man had witnessed many disturbing things during his lifetime. Things that no person should ever have to endure. To make matters worse, he had been in no position to do anything about it. He just had to sit and watch helplessly. Useless. Just like now. Here, at this very moment, a child was surpassing him in the art of brutality. This was a first. And hopefully the last. Because if this was the attitude that the younger generation was being forced to swallow….

"You're too young to be saying things like that."

For the first time since Mensch had nearly been startled out of his seat did he turn around to acknowledge the doctor's presence. There. He did it again. Bright and beaming one moment. Severe and remorseful the next. Verstand's furrowed white eyebrows only highlighted his steel eyes, secured by the foundation of his lips stretched into a thin, grim line. Mensch then turned to the teen. His expression wasn't as severe but was close. Very close. A moment later his eyes passed beyond the officer and then widened with concern. "Lan, what is it?" The two men turned around to note the wide-eyed teen, still absorbed in watching the progress of the hunting party but with more anticipation than prior. Then, the brunette's head slowly turned to face the trio as one finger slowly rose to point to the screen.

"He's here."

* * *

To be continued…

* * *

R&R

LOTS


	4. Martyr of the Lightning war

The Leopard's Apprentice

By

Lady of the Shire

* * *

Chapter 3

Martyr of the Lightning War

* * *

_DISCLAIMER: MegaMan NT Warrior and all related entities are the property of ShoPro, Viz Media, Ryo Takamisaki, and related partners._

* * *

"I don't like Plan D," I grumbled in a voice low enough to constitute speaking to myself but loud enough for anyone within earshot. Before venturing out into the unknown frontier, our team had come to a consensus on three strategies for apprehending our elusive foe. The first, presumably Plan A, was the most straightforward: anticipate an ambush. Easy enough. The Hounds improved our success rate. But, Plan A was also the most dangerous. If we wanted to finish this mission _unscathed _we would need to be on the offensive. Not vice versa. Plans B and C were similar, divide the region into quadrants and secure ourselves within one at a time, scouring every bit of the landscape as we go. The only difference was whether it was better to do so in smaller triplets or as one group, respectively. We could cover more ground faster if abiding by the former. But, not without accumulating more risk. Then, there was Plan D: the red-headed stepchild of a thought, born out of desperation. In my opinion, Plan D wasn't well conceived.

In fact, I thought it was stupid.

The hunting party was probably less than two miles from our target when one of the Hounds stopped. We had trekked uphill to a clearing leaving the ramose trees in the valley below. Before us, the flow of the landscape was interrupted by a large wall of stone. The barren cliff probably stood about 40 feet high, topped with snow and a few evergreens that peered over the edge. One tracker stepped forward and peered up at the sight; then he poised on the balls of his feet and arched over as if he was about to pounce. I couldn't help but think of a beast that had picked up an alluring scent of prey. For a moment, I considered whether there was a more literal reason as to the term for these sentinels. "Target is moving this way," announced the escort leader. His weapon was already fully deployed. The others followed suit. However, their leader released his buster and raised the freed hand slowly in the air. He made a clenched fist. But the six trackers hesitated to comply. I swore I caught one or two exchange glances with one another.

Strange….

Nonetheless, he persisted. A moment later they slowly nodded and vanished right before our eyes. The _next_ thing I notice is a beige blur flash past me towards the leader of the pack. "Woah, woah! What are you doing?!" I didn't need to see those apprehensive emerald eyes to know that MegaMan was in a panic. Without as much as a glance behind, the escort leader continued on forward. "I suggest that you two follow me." Luckily, if there was anything that the two of us could easily come to a consensus on it was skepticism. "Not without some sort of explanation! I don't know if you noticed, but YOU just announced that we have a welcome party!" We had made a silent pact to emphasize very early on that we are to act on our own accord. The Sharo escorts were **only** that: escorts. If they wanted to scatter like leaves in the wind, that was their business. But, don't think for a _second _that we are going to blindly follow suit, especially now that our "protection" had been reduced two-fold. I approached until I stood adjacent to the fuming cloth burrito and folded my arms.

I **know** I heard a sigh.

"Given the sudden change in developments, it is best to maintain a fair distance and observe. Hence, my orders to the others. They will be artillery support. As for the three of us…."

His voice trailed off.

Bad sign.

[…I believe it would be best to make one more effort to open…peaceful negotiations.]

Two things bothered me about this statement. First, its presentation. All of a sudden he was speaking on a private link with the two of us, oblivious to the Operators outside. Again, strange. Aside from that, I could have sworn that an earlier reconnaissance team—organized with "diplomacy" in mind— recovered only one survivor. Or a messenger so to speak. I know that was done purposefully.

_**He**_would never miss.

"WHAT?!" So I wasn't the only one who was hallucinating. Suspicion alone clamped my mouth shut like a steel trap. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect on MegaMan. But, I had to complement him on his bluntness. "How many of your comrades returned after the **last** time?" The leader finally glanced behind at us, as if he just acknowledged our existence. Obviously, he displayed no expression but I could still tell that he had not appreciated that last comment. To make matters worse, the escort leader did not appear to be anywhere near "knowledgeable" in diplomacy: concise, direct, and assertive. Needless to say that pleading would be out of the question. And _that _is what troubled me. "It's a valid point. We can't afford to risk any more casualties," I said. The leader fully turned to face us. "All the more reason for Plan D." There it was. It was just as I had feared. Our guide, who strongly desired negotiation, was just as adamant. So much that he threw all caution to the wind and forced this new "Plan D" to be our only available strategy.

While MegaMan used that fact as kindle to flame his own vociferous opinion, I received a notification. The patch was complete. I opened it. Chaud had been unable to expand on the small window of time our target would be incapacitated, despite his many endeavors. Prior to this new development, I would have figured we could wing it. But, noting the heated discussion erupting from the two beings before me, I wasn't so sure that we would make it ten steps beforehand. Moreover, I would have to find a way to imbed the code into SearchMan without getting blown away in the process. For someone who specialized in long-ranged combat, he wasn't lacking close range. Sure, it wasn't his forte. But I couldn't let my guard down. I frowned. As cliché as it sounded, this was going to be harder than I had thought. Not that I ever thought this was going to be easy….

"Of course not!"

It took me a moment to realize that I had not fashioned that statement. The next moment a very cross beige curtain sprouting azure limbs stormed over to me. "Can you _believe _this?!" MegaMan hissed at me akimbo. My attention was on the figure watching us from not too far away. "No. But it's still happening." Then, I turned to address him. "Though, I don't advise angering the natives." The Navi gave me a skeptical glance. He shrugged. "Peaceful negotiations, eh?" I still didn't like this entire arrangement: sending off the other six escorts in order to cast aside three well-conceived plans for one hasty and preposterous leap of faith. Even if this plan did work, then what? More so, why were we even trying this? Not to mention, what were the Operators doing? Did they not notice what was going on?! Why haven't we received any feedback? While suppressing my anxiety I asked him: "What did he say?", though I was already aware of the answer. "Nothing new. It is in our _best interest_ to abide by his **recommendations**," MegaMan sneered, rolling his eyes on cue. I nodded. "Then, we better." That elicited a disapproving glare. I am sure he was confident that I would take his side on the matter. I did. But I wasn't going to let him know that. The small program scoffed and glanced in the spokesman's direction.

He blanched.

Frozen down to the most minuscule of functions, his eyes were terrified and uncoordinated. "Lan," he croaked. What Hikari responded with I didn't pay attention to. Whatever it was, it probably re-stated the obvious. And by "obvious" I meant the towering figure looming behind the escort leader. How the two of us managed to stay collected was beyond me. Our host had arrived, rather indifferent to our presence though. So much for the "artillery support". But, since SearchMan wasn't brandishing his signature weapon, I guessed he might as well be blind to them. That's how they operated right? At the moment, I wasn't too keen with the tutorial we had received, given that there was a more _pressing _matter before us. His gaze passed over the escort first, who dare not turn around at the moment. I couldn't tell what he was thinking as his vision darted between us. The sniper's expression was steadfast…as usual. An outsider would have a hard time believing that he was a threat: a dangerous quality. Eventually, he settled on meeting my gaze. Silent, his attention never left me, much to my dismay. Was he suspicious? Could he have figured out our trap? I doubt it. But, I couldn't be too sure that his heighted awareness hadn't alerted him to something. Either that or he considered me to be the most dangerous threat. I would be flattered if that didn't mean being rattled with bullets….

"Hey."

I did my best not to take a glance. MegaMan had apparently recovered. _"Fine time for him to pretend everything is cool," _I inwardly scoffed. The former commander glimpsed at the blue program but said nothing. This was awkward. Having our quarry walk right up to us nonchalantly really left me speechless. To make matters worse, this scene was just _too_ casual. SearchMan didn't come at us screaming his head off with guns blazing. Not that I imagined him doing that but, I expected more…hostility from his end. He had been labeled _rogue_ for a reason, after all. On the contrary, it was almost as if he just heard that we were in the neighborhood and decided to stop by for a quick hello. Like I said, awkward. So what this mainly translated to was us just standing around for a few uncomfortable minutes. I wasn't sure if I should give him a nod or draw my sword. He just didn't _do _anything. Within that time the sniper's vision resumed passing back and forth between the two of us (much to my relief) and then settled on the escort.

This tension.

Nowhere near savagery but far from camaraderie. The air was reminiscent to what I have heard humans describe as that weird atmosphere during Thanksgiving dinner. Apparently, sitting amongst relatives that one can only stand being in proximity to once a year can be clinically proven to be hazardous for one's health. At least, according to Hikari it is. That reminds me…the manner in which the sniper had appeared was strange. He just showed up. I didn't even see him out in the distance approaching us. Not a good sign. The Hounds might have appeared to be keener to his location but it seems that he has the ability to pull the wool over _their_ eyes as well. Yeah. And I _still_ wasn't receiving any instructions from Chaud. A few secret dispatches on my end were rewarded with no response. I only assumed MegaMan was the same. Fine time for technical difficulties! Either that or they were waiting for the opposition to make the first move, arguing over how to approach this unexpected development in the meantime. So we were running solo for the time being.

In that case, we're screwed.

"Okay! Let me just start off with that you look well."

Great opening idiot. Maybe I shouldn't be worried about the spokesman getting us all killed.

"However, I am not too pleased that we haven't heard from you in a while. Too busy to just send a quick 'Hello! How are you doing?'" I understood what MegaMan was trying to do. Offsetting the tension and all. But nagging isn't the best way to get results. "Okay, so…what…six months of not seeing you and all of a sudden we have to be dragged half way across the world for a meeting?" He folded his arms, parting his cloak. "That's not cool." This wasn't going to work. We can't just act as if there isn't a problem and approach this like some meeting after school at the playground! What the hell is he doing?! Is he trying to make us _both _look like morons in front of whoever is watching this!?

"You know…communication only works when reciprocated."

Oh.

Great.

_**HE **_is humored.

"Don't get smart with me Mr. I-don't-have-the-time-because-I-am-busy! We have hectic lives as well! Or did you forget the amount of peril that is contingent with our—" a hand darted back and forth between the two of us "—profession?"

I decided to just play along…for now. "Yeah, like keeping _some_ people from shoving forks into electrical sockets."

I could literally see light radiating from him in response. "Yeah—"

Then, I couldn't help but gin. The death glare I received at that moment was just too priceless. I couldn't tell what MegaMan was more infuriated at: the fact that I blatantly insulted his Operator's intelligence to his face—who I am sure is painting a picture of me with the most colorful words possible right now— or that he nearly agreed with me. "You are _this _close—" a thumb and forefinger less than half an inch apart engulfed my vision as I turned to face him "—to getting punched in the stomach, ProtoMan. Do NOT play with me!" He folded his arms once more as he turned away. "I am not in the mood."

Unfazed I replied with: "Whatever you say…BurritoMan."

The angry taco twisted back as he stomped his foot into the ground. "ARGH! I SWEAR I'M GONNA—"

We both fell silent.

Our heads twisted in the same direction simultaneously.

The sounds around us since we had arrived had been calm. Almost non-existent.

The slight breeze.

A hushed cadence through the snow.

The brush of disturbed pine needles as we walked by.

I had forgotten how…peaceful this place was. Of course, I would have been reminded of it being otherwise the second I removed this protective garment. So, the sound of quiet chuckling came off as blatant as if a commercial airliner suddenly whizzed by overhead. Particularly due to its source.

It started off subtle, a polite yet restrained reaction as some might call it.

Then, it started to grow louder. More of a physical reaction was noted: bowing of the head, a slight shrug of the shoulders.

But, it didn't stop. The chuckle evolved into unmitigated laughter. A normal reaction from watching a good comedy duo. SearchMan's head flew back as he shielded his eyes. A healthy guffaw echoed across the barren plane, filling in the void of ambiance at the moment. I was concerned, not because of his unusual sense of humor. But, with the fact that I discovered that he possessed one to begin with. Don't get me wrong! He isn't the most wooden character I have ever met. But he isn't one for theatrics either. Says what he needs to say when he needs too. That's how he gets paid the most attention: by not spewing nonsense every two seconds. But, I have never seen him _laugh_. Grin? Yes. Chuckle? If it could be categorized as such then yes. But this? Roaring like a mad man, doubled over on his knees and slamming his fist into the ground? This wasn't normal.

This was disturbing.

Again, MegaMan took a stab at alleviating the atmosphere. "Oh, yes. Ha ha. I am glad that we can be a source of amusement to you," he sneered as he flung his arms into the air.

"No…it's…not that." The escort leader.

SearchMan surprisingly wound down, head still obstructed from view.

"He was just thinking…"

Heaving shoulders diminished with each chuckle.

"That the nine of us…"

Silence.

"…actually believe that we are leaving this place alive."

At that moment, it finally dawned on me.

A breakdown.

That would explain his steadfast expression.

As if nothing was wrong.

Because in _his _mind everything was normal.

In his twisted, broken mind….

* * *

To be continued…

* * *

R&R

LOTS


	5. Rush

The Leopard's Apprentice

By

Lady of the Shire

* * *

Chapter 4

Rush

* * *

_DISCLAIMER: MegaMan NT Warrior and all related entities are the property of ShoPro, Viz Media, Ryo Takamisaki, and related partners._

* * *

The sniper was upon them.

One moment ago he was crouched to the ground, recovering from his fit. The next, it was as if he had literally taken flight. MegaMan and ProtoMan darted in opposite directions to evade, circling to flank their opponent from behind. Signature weapons were brandished. Then, the swordsman dashed forward while his partner supported from the rear with his MegaBuster. ProtoMan targeted a shoulder. He missed. SearchMan had spun around in his heel in time to counterattack, taking a swing at the crimson program with his homing buster. ProtoMan narrowly missed taking the full blunt of the impact but was still flung for a considerable distance. Dazed but still conscious, he positioned himself just in time to land on his feet. Then, he sprung forward for a second strike. The rogue dodged effortlessly but not without earning a mark: the sword nicked the side of his helm, right above his left eye. He furrowed his brow. Had he just imagi—

A shower of Gatling gun fire.

SearchMan broke into a full run, flinging himself haphazardly from left to right to evade. Regardless, a few bullets made their mark, leaving more scrapes along the length of his body armor. One or two even managed to graze by his vulnerable abdomen. At that point he twisted around and returned fire. The first line of gunfire was directed at the cerulean program. Luckily, MegaMan made quick work of a Guard, courtesy of his Operator. Bullets ricocheted off of the large shield like pelts of raindrops. In the meantime, ProtoMan continued the assault, keeping the sniper at bay. He swung strategically, aiming at his target's joints and face. The air sang with each wisp, grunt of frustration, and alarm of pain. Maintaining close range. Preventing another bullet shower. That's all. Anything to immobilize SearchMan. Even for a second. Just enough time to act and escape.

"_I just need a moment."_

However, SearchMan wasn't willing to allow for such blatant violation of his personal space, much less his firing range. He was aware of his weakness and refused to submit, even while showered with Gatling fire from behind. But, such a feat proved difficult. When the sniper dashed to escape, he had to crouch and fling himself to and fro to avoid the sword, kicking streams of snow in his wake. Then, when he tried to counterattack, the gunfire distracted him. "A lose-lose situation," said the escort leader, as he witnessed the onslaught. His objective was to "assist" in his former commander's capture. But, even such a succinct directive could be warped. As far as the program was concerned, his "assistance" ended the moment the battle begun. _"I am only to act as a guide. That is my purpose," _he inwardly convinced himself, all the while his fists were bunched tightly with arms rigid at his sides.

Don't interfere.

This is not your fight.

"_I already had a chance," _the escort thought. Look where _that_ had ended up! The program sighed. "I already had my chance." Yet, it infuriated him. This small tether that was keeping him at bay. The other end of that taut leash drew him away from where he was needed most. Fear. It tangled him within its thorny grasp. Each stab of pain was a constant reminder of failure. Cowardice blossomed forth reinforcing that fetter further, so much that it would be impossible for him to break away with his own strength. He would have to borrow another's.

Just as he was doing now.

"Damn," the escort muttered. Though, he had to admit, if he wasn't going to go for that easy route, he definitely found two brave specimens. They were good. It was a feat alone that the red one managed to keep the Boss on his feet. But, _together? _Teamwork. Regardless of their prior interaction, they complemented each other. The blue one assisted right on cue without even as much as a glance at his partner. And the swordsman was able to continue the close-range combat without even so much as a pause. He just kept _going_! Over and over again his weapon would zing through the air. Not blindly either. Every slash had a purpose. An apparent miss could translate into a trap, leading SearchMan to stumble right into the Bull's Eye. _"That is why they are here," _the spokesman thought. These two certainly had teamwork reinforced into their programming.

Just like the Bloodhounds.

The escort leader didn't even notice that one stood atop the lip of a narrow snow mound on the right horizon. Why had it decided to make its presence known without explicit orders? Clearly insubordination. MegaMan caught an initial glimpse in his peripheral as he lined up another shot. He took a double take. "Oh! So _now _they decide to come back!?" he barked as he shot a vindictive glance at the cyber soldier. Accordingly, he spun around to note the new development. "Shit!" he hissed, distracting the blue Navi. Then, the escort's attention was divided between the one pair warring in front of him and the newcomer. MegaMan rushed forward, nearly knocking him over in the process. "Wait! Why is that a bad thing!? What's the problem!?" he literally screamed in the sentinel's face. But, the other program ignored him and stood his ground, taking longer glances at the fully engaged SearchMan not too far away. The sniper had yet to take note of the reinforcements. He barely kept hold of his ground as he crouched and darted to and fro, desperate to escape striking range. ProtoMan made an attempt at his opponent's right flank, sword angled just enough to rake the length of SearchMan's side in one upward motion. However, the former commander darted out of the way and flung up his vulnerable arm in time to completely evade the blade.

An opening.

With said arm still hovered in the air and teetered on one foot, SearchMan noted a dark blur dashed in and out of his peripheral. His eyes followed instinctively. The Hound. It whizzed towards him at unusually sharp angles, making a more difficult target to shoot. Nonetheless, the sniper leveled his arm, weapon fully deployed and aimed. But, just as he prepared to fire, something caught hold of him. A voice. Faint but urgent. The tone alone prompted him to turn around to glance behind him. Little did he know that the cry wasn't a figment of his imagination.

"**BOSS!"**

SearchMan's head twisted around just in time to note another sentinel closing in from behind. He flung up an arm to guard. The Hound took hold of it without hesitation and reeled its head back until only its neck was in view. Then it flung itself forward. The visor was gone. In its place was a gaping hole reminiscent to that of a steel trap. Fangs clamped down on the arm, penetrating the armor. In the same breath, the sniper twisted back in time to face the other, mouth open wide, about to ensnare his throat….

* * *

The two boys were at a loss for words.

Their eyes, glued on to the same monitor, latched onto every movement of the assault. Lan flinched at the gunfire but reinforced his resolve, leaning closer to the screen with one hand poised over the PET's chip slot, ready at a moment's notice to relay support. Yes! He was able to make it in time. But, the brunette watched the feeble guard dissipate a moment later. The fight continued. Unbeknownst to him, his partner stood behind him with arms tightly folded about his chest. Chaud's expression screamed anticipation as his eyes followed every sword stroke.

Then the bloodhounds appeared.

Slowly, a vivid pair of cerulean tore away from the screen and locked onto Mensch, whose unwavering gaze was on the screen before him. "Canines," Mensch began as he slightly reclined in his chair. "Interesting beasts. No rest for the weary prey," he said in such a bored fashion. Verstand became intrigued. "Tear the target limb from limb?" he asked with hint of enthusiasm in his voice. However, the other man's expression had become taut like a thread frayed down to the very last strand. Seconds from snapping. The musculature about the side of his face mirrored such, complementing his wide eyes and tightly clenched jaw. It was astonishing that the officer could still speak in such a state.

"Yes."

Without warning, Lan flew forward, pushing his friend aside in the process. Verstand's slightly entertained expression switched to one of bewilderment. The boy inhaled.

"I know."

The brunette froze, mouth agape.

"Please," Mensch continued as he turned away from the screen. "The truth is…you two were our last resort. I did not want to use lethal force. So I petitioned one last method. What better way but to invite a familiar who might be able to sway an adamant…. But, that is not the case. Just from what little I've seen…."

The officer took a deep breath. His expression relaxed, reverting to its cold and distant state. "The target has refused all peaceful negotiations. As a result, we have no choice but to label it as a clear and present danger. The only valid assumption is that the target has been hacked and may well be en route to deliver classified data." He eyed both boys. "This is too important for us to lose. _One _is all we need to throw us into turmoil." Then, expression became severe. In response, Lan looked as if he just witnessed someone get hit by a bus. His vision wavered as he scoured the ground for some sort of sign; breathing became labored as the antagonizing moments pasted with no inspiration.

Finally.

"W-What if we successfully capture him?! What then?!"

Mensch slowly shook his head. "There is no guarantee that we will find what caused the malfunction."

That response alone granted the brunette enough nerve to steel his resolve. He planted a hand on his chest. "I—"

"Mr. Hikari!" The officer's frigid tone alone intimidated the boy into silence. Then, he continued on calmly. "I am well aware of your father's reputation as a brilliant scientist. But, he is a civilian." Mensch adjusted his glasses before continuing. "Of another country no less." He sighed. "We can't afford a matter as sensitive as this to leave _our _jurisdiction."

"That's why you withheld information until we arrived, right?"

Both officers turned to address the other boy.

Chaud continued. "You knew that we would have refused otherwise."

Mensch nodded. "Or addressed the situation in a different manner. We wanted to observe a sincere attempt." The officer glanced behind his chair at the doctor. He froze. Verstand's uncharacteristically severe expression glared down at the junior officer. Mensch immediately returned his attention to video feed.

But, his squeamishness didn't last.

"What the…."

* * *

A whimper marked a futile struggle to regain footing. The severely damaged Hound peeled itself away from the cliff. It collapsed onto its knees, legs rattled with bullets. They constantly gave way every time it tried to stand, forcing it to cling desperately to the rock each time. Fingers began to dig shallow impressions.

This prey was unpredictable indeed.

Swift enough to swat the Hound away, straight into the rock, and then unleash a round of bullets. The tracker turned, noting the target engaged with the Hound's comrade that had successfully landed a blow. SearchMan drew the arm against his chest, dragging the attacker along with it. Then, he reverted his weapon arm to its original state and snaked the free limb around the Hound's throat and through the crook of his engaged arm. He sharply pulled upward. The Hound in question had to make a very critical choice: have those razor sharp fangs penetrate further into the broken plating and have its neck broken or let go and retreat to safety.

It was heavily weighing both options.

Needless to say that crouch and pounce strategy had failed. Lying in wait for the target to reveal vulnerability had sounded good in theory. Yes. It had _sounded_ good. And it would have worked if it had not been for—

"These trackers are programed in the most simplistic way possible, in order to avoid conflict of directive while in the midst of a mission." The escort stood a few feet away, shifted into a defensive stance without brandishing his weapon. "They will focus their sights only on what has been assigned as the 'target' and will not rest until it is brought down," the escort continued. MegaMan stood adjacent to him, arms hung loosely at his sides and transfixed on the metaphorical tug-of-war before him. He tore his eyes away from the spectacle to glance at the other program. "Well, aren't you the expert?" the Navi grumbled. The escort caught wind. His head twisted towards the accuser. "I am NOT one of them!" he growled, with one finger poised on the crumpled black and grey figure at the boulder. But, MegaMan's attention was once again fixed on the warring pair. "You could have fooled me. Being that the only difference between you and them is thanks to a color wheel."

"**ENOUGH!" **

Both twisted around to note ProtoMan storm in between them. "I swear if both of you don't shut up, _he—" _casting a glance at the sniper "—won't be the only one returning in **pieces**!" MegaMan replied with a blank stare. The escort, on the other hand, suppressed every instinct to shoot. If the swordsman noted such a sinister aura, he must have chosen to ignore it. "You!" He pointed at the escort with his sword. "How do we keep them from tearing your_ boss_ to shreds?!"

MegaMan's expression hardened. "ProtoMan—"

"What did I just say!?" The swordsman turned on him at once. "I don't care what is going on! We aren't throwing the idiot to a pack of rabid man-dogs before obtaining a full explanation from _his _mouth!" However, the smaller program was unfazed. "You want an explanation?" He pushed his partner out of the way. "Fine." MegaMan stormed toward the squabble with tightly clenched fists. Without turning around, he said: "Sentry number 183734, keep your mutts distracted. If I can beat them to the prize, then they will give up, right?"

The escort was taken by surprise. Partly due to the formality. But more so that he had been given an order…from someone he could care less about listening to. "Oh, really?! And how will you achieve such?" he spat.

MegaMan turned around while in mid-stride and walked backwards. "That's not your problem. By the way, I think I finally have gotten used to this stupid thing—" he tugged at the collar of his cloak "—that I must thank your people for installing into me!" After, he resumed facing forwards. "Just jingle some keys at them or something!" "Dogs aren't keen to that," ProtoMan quipped after him. Then, he muttered. "I guess he really _is_ in a bad mood today." The escort turned to eye him, only to stare back at his own reflection in the swordsman's visor.

"What?"

In turn, the sentry let out a long sigh. "Well, let's get to it. I'll get the one by the rock," the crimson program continued after returning his arm to its original state. He walked off without waiting for a response. The escort's shoulders drooped. That meant that he was stuck with the spirited one, still struggling to release itself from the fatal vice grip. It was losing quickly. To make matters worse, he had already noted the other two pairs of Hounds intently observing the scene; one over the horizon from which the second Hound had appeared while the other perched at the edge of the high rocky ledge. _"They aren't stupid. They know what they are in for, which is why only two attacked. So that they could assess their target's strength." _He returned his attention to SearchMan, still struggling to break the Hound in his grasp. _"So, what exactly did he mean by 'keeping them distracted'?! I can't call them back once they get into this state. That's why I sent them off before." _Speaking of which, why had the Hounds returned without his order? The Operators had already made it clear that they would not interfere unless absolutely necessary, given that conflict was a last resort in this case. The escort leader was confused. Maybe their proximity to their target awaked their feral side. But SearchMan had not appeared flaunting his weapons all over the place. Perhaps that justified the delay. So, had the Boss known about the trackers? Why else would he approach a supposed dangerous group of apprehenders unarmed?

How much did the Boss _really _know?

**CRUNCH!**

Obviously, not enough to have noticed the blue one stroll up from behind. He flung the cloak over the former commander like a matador. A cry of alarm. Then SearchMan's hands flew up to pull off the infuriating object, freeing the assailant-turned-victim in the process. Kind of weird that the _sniper_ didn't catch that.

One punch.

Target down.

"_Wait. How did he do THAT?!" _The escort leader stood aghast, almost comically slouching forward with arms hung loose in front of him. To be perfectly honest, he lost track of the smaller program after he had glanced away to note the other Hounds. But, only now did he realize such. Instinctively, he flew forward. The freed tracker fell into his arms as he looped them around its midriff to keep it at bay. Not that he was met with much resistance. The Hound appeared barely able to lift its head, much less counterattack.

"_By the way, I think I finally have gotten used to this stupid thing…."_

Gotten used to what?! The sentry knew that the cloaking program was convoluted but didn't serve much purpose than beyond that of a shield from the elements. What could he have meant by—

Oh.

MegaMan had made quick work of pinning their target down. Unfortunately, it wasn't as easy as he had anticipated. The slug that had connected with SearchMan's jaw had jarred him enough to undermine him for a moment. But, he recovered. Quickly. "Stop…squirming! OW!" The cerulean program cried out from a sharp elbow to his side. MegaMan struggled to pin the other's arms to the ground. In the meantime, the escort leader had yet to recover from his astonishment.

The Boss had been knocked over.

One punch.

The **Boss**.

"I don't know who is worse: you or the Bloodhounds," he muttered. Even more amazing is that squirt single-handedly kept someone almost twice his size at bay. Anyone else would have been thrown off and rattled with holes in one breath by now….

"You finally caught on. Good."

The escort twisted to his left. The swordsman stood akimbo, while one hand clamped on down the other injured Hound, whose legs were sprawled out at awkward angles in the snow. "Overkill. He didn't have to cripple it to that extent." The escort wasn't sure if ProtoMan meant to address him or if he was just thinking out loud. The crimson program summoned his free hand to the side of his face. "Oh yeah, very nice, MegaMan. I would have _never _thought of something as ingenious as smothering him with that god-awful contraption. Stop being all wishy-washy already! Just bash him over the head and drag him the rest of the way, caveman style."

"I…don't…appreciate the SARCASM!" His partner gritted through his tightly clenched teeth. "How…about…you…come…over— **ARGH**!" Another jab. In the stomach this time. "HELP ME, DANG IT!" he snapped.

ProtoMan lifted the unconscious Hound's body in the air. "Can't. I'm busy." He turned around and summoned two fingers to the side of his helmet. "Team to Base, respond." The escort leader did his best to ignore the string of expletives that filled the air from the struggle, some addressed to the program next to him, the rest probably reserved for the Boss. "Come in base," the swordsman continued.

"Damn!" he flung down his arm in frustration.

The escort leader sighed. "Surprise, surprise. We can reach the rendezvous point but if the communication link is down, our transmission route is probably also compromised."

ProtoMan shook his head. Then, he took in a panoramic view of their surroundings.

"Is it really such a good idea to let him do that by himself?" The escort leader asked, jabbing a thumb at the spectacle behind him. Somehow the cerulean Navi was caught in a wrestle for dominance, his hands locked together with that of the sniper's.

"I can't inject the patch until we are sure we can get back in time. But we can't even move with _him _as spirited as he is right now," ProtoMan muttered, more to himself this time.

The sentinel grew annoyed. He coughed.

A sigh. "Probably not."

* * *

"Sir, communication lines are down. None of the patches we apply seem to be working," cried one of the Operators to Mensch. He sighed as he watched the apprehension of the target.

Verstand mirrored his thoughts. "Interesting. That blue one."

Mensch frowned.

The same operator waited patiently for instructions. "Sir?"

The officer folded his arms. "Restart the sequence."

"Dr. Hikari's, Magnum Opus apparently," the doctor continued.

"Stop twisting my arm, Aldrich," his colleague muttered. He took a quick glance at the boys. Though, their attention even more focused on the screen than prior, he couldn't ignore the morbid atmosphere that loomed over the pair. Especially the brunette. The kid looked so downtrodden, his depression appeared to be a burden, back slouched so far forward that his fingers nearly brushed the grey linoleum floor tiles. His friend on the other hand might as well have been speaking to himself, probably trying to discuss what to do about the communication issue. Mensch frowned. He wasn't thrilled with using such an underhanded tactic. But, it was better than the alternative: risking this leaking out to _undesirable _parties. He had enough attention to worry about at the moment. Heaven forbid something like _this _was thrown into the fire. Nonetheless, that didn't change the fact that sometimes the best solution isn't the one that is most desirable. Mensch knew that there would be time for much explanation (and reprimanding) after this entire mess was settled. He could already tell from the intuitiveness of the other boy that this case wouldn't close without a fight.

But that was for later.

"All I am saying is that it wouldn't hurt to ask for his assistance on the matter." Aldrich again. _"I swear, this man never knows when to quit," _Mensch grumbled to himself. "If he can produce something like _that _–" Verstand nodded at the blue program "—than surely we can save having to enlist a carbon copy. Perhaps studying this case will help us prevent this from happening again in the future."

Mensch finally let out a sigh. "Al—"

Verstand bent down until he was at eye level with the Lieutenant General. "That little one knocked over the pinnacle of our technological advancements with _one _punch. Regardless of how it did it, the fact alone is amazing." Mensch quirked a brow. "The fact that it hasn't been blown away yet is amazing."

"What does this say about _us_?" Verstand whispered.

Mensch closed his eyes. Here we go, he thought. The cliché elephant in the room. How did such an isolated, and relatively mediocre, incident reflect their destructive prowess? How many times had he been asked that question? Always concerned with perception: their strength versus that of their neighbors. He could hear the accusations already….

"So this is how you get your way, eh?" He scowled. Verstand smiled triumphantly, resuming his erect stance with hands placed behind is back. "Why don't we make a proposition," he announced. The Lieutenant Officer sunk further into his seat, glancing at the pair. He wondered if they had finally decided to close themselves off from anything he or Verstand had to say. Nonetheless, the doctor continued. "If you can keep the target from the Bloodhounds, then we will consider—"

"**YOU'VE GOT A DEAL!"**

Half of the operator's nearby flinched, nearly startled out of their skins. Unfortunately, Mensch reaction was less subtle, almost tumbling out of his seat and onto the floor along with the doctor. If Lan gripped the chair's armrest any tighter, it surely would have broken. How and when this enthusiastic brunette replaced his defeated former was a feat in of itself. Even more so how he appeared to have teleported from his seat was another mystery. The boy raised one pointer finger in a threatening gesture. "But, you can't go back on your word! Regardless of what happens, the deal _remains_ in effect!" It took one moment for the shock plastered on the two men's faces. Verstand grinned nervously. "F-Fine! But, just as long as—"

"Lan."

The boy spun around, his attention and that of the officers drawn back to the other NetSavior. Chaud slowly looked away from the screen to address the two officers. "And what should happen to SearchMan if we fail." Lan deflated, shoulders weighed down once more. He cautiously turned back to Verstand. But, the doctor matched the older boy's steadfast gaze, refusing to tear away. He frowned at Chaud's grim expression. The old man was afraid of this. A skeptical child was much more difficult to deal with. Especially one who had business sense. "_Too good to be true, eh?" _Verstand's grey eyes finally slid away as he folded his arms.

He shrugged.

"Dog food."

* * *

"You know, as far as captures go…I think you guys are doing pretty well," said the Escort leader. MegaMan had won. Sort of. He was barely able to keep SearchMan pinned down without the occasional verbal or physical expletive. Meanwhile, ProtoMan stood adjacent to the Sharo representative, impatiently tapping one foot while holding the unconscious Hound, draped along the ground like unkempt linen, by the shoulder. He turned to eye the source of the quip. "You want to end up like _him—" _he gestured at the broken tracker "—don't you?" The escort shook his head. "No. I just felt that I would lighten the atmosphere. That and the fact that you two have been functioning without constant instructions from your operators."

The third member of their comedy trio was not humored.

"Would one of you kindly get over here and **HELP ME**!?"

The swordsman turned to address him with one inquisitive finger raised. "I'm sorry. I don't recall endorsing some half-baked plot to kill the bull with nothing more than nauseating dose of ill-placed optimism and a bulky sheet." He raised both hands in defeat and shrugged. "Frankly, I don't know how I would help."

"WOULD YOU RATHER I LET THE LUNATIC RUN FREE!?" roared through ProtoMan's being. He sighed. Within two strides he loomed over the pair. Both craned their heads upward, simultaneously. "What do you think?" MegaMan took note of his dark tone. Suddenly, he found it difficult to maintain eye contact. But, in reality, the swordsman's coldness was not addressed at him….

ProtoMan folded his arms. "Can you still pretend to act civilized?" he asked the pair of crimson eyes that glared up at him. They narrowed. The interrogator frowned.

"MegaMan, get up."

A downcast pair of emerald eyes immediately met his gaze, astonished. "You're serious."

A shrug. "When am I not?"

The smaller program mirrored his haunting expression. MegaMan gestured behind him a nod of his head. "They will be the first. Those mutts."

"That's the funny thing about dogs," ProtoMan said. Cautiously, his partner let go of the sniper, releasing one arm at a time before slowly rising from his back. The cerulean Navi held out his hands, palms outstretched, as if a precaution for falling forward. He took two steps back as their target rose. At this point, MegaMan's stance resembled one trying to appease a vexed animal, slowly backing away with his attention constantly on the former commander's back. Right on cue, he was awarded with SearchMan casting a brief glance over his shoulder.

"They lose all interest in spoiled prey."

A flash of bared incisors and a slight shift in stance. Then, one strike.

Done.

Before MegaMan had realized he had blinked, the sniper's signature weapon had already been brandished. It was angled to the ground while its bearer took on a fighting stance. Not that it mattered at this point, the blue Navi thought. What left him even more speechless was anti-climactic conclusion of their mission.

That and the sword that pierced right through SearchMan's abdomen.

From MegaMan's angle, he could barely make out the sniper's expression at that moment. He appeared to be transfixed on something in the distance, disregarding the swordsman. Then, his shoulders went slack as his weapon hand reverted back to its original state. The patch seemed to be working. Said arm went limp at SearchMan's side as he stared down at the object that pierced his cavity. His gaze slid upward until they reflected in ProtoMan's opaque visor. The sniper began to lose feeling in both arms and his knees began to buckle. His other arm slowly rose. It loomed over the foreign object, following its length back to its wielder.

Suddenly, his hand clamped down onto the blade. SearchMan gripped it tightly, oblivious to the quickly embedding sharp edges. He lurched forward, but regained his balance.

"Block my arsenal," the sniper muttered.

ProtoMan nodded. His sword slipped out as quickly as it had penetrated, leaving deep cuts in SearchMan's hand. The swordsman took a step back while their target fell to his knees. His injured hand came to rest on the wound….

* * *

"Damn it!" Lan jumped out of his seat. "Since when is 'stab first, talk later' ProtoMan's doctrine!?"

One of the brunette's hands clamped down heavily on his friend's shoulder. "Was _this _part of your strategy somehow?! Did you leave _him_ with a contingency plan in case everything went belly up?!" But, Chaud was unfazed. "Lieutenant General, what is the status of our communication problem?" Mensch sighed. "Still down." The other boy approached him. "So, there isn't any _other _way to make contact?!" Lan threw out his hands, pleadingly. "So audio isn't working! But, the video is still functioning, so there has to be another wa—"

"Why are we going through all this?"

Lan fell silent. Aghast, he turned slowly towards the source.

"I know that we had an agreement. And it would be nice to bring back a _functioning _specimen," continued Verstand, presumptuously peering down at the monitors with his hands behind his back. "But, if we can't find a way to bring the target back, why bother?" Silver eyes narrowed. "The target is important to us. But, we do have safeguards for this type of situation. There are back—"

Verstand's eyes grew wide. His fingers unlaced themselves, arms hung loosely at his sides. Lan, perplexed, spun around to follow his line of vision towards the monitor.

SearchMan was still on his knees, bowed over. His injured hand rested on his cavity. The remaining Hounds had regrouped. Being so close to the target, they appeared distracted from listening to the escort leader's commands. In the meantime, MegaMan wiped his brow as he walked towards the sniper from behind and ProtoMan had turned away for a moment to exercise his wrists.

So at the moment, no one noticed, the grenade that rested lightly in SearchMan's other hand.

Its pin was clenched tightly between his bared teeth….

* * *

To be Continued…

* * *

R&R

LOTS

AUTHOR'S NOTE  


This ends the revised chapters. Remaining chapters were just re-uploaded due to changes in numbering.


	6. The Things that are Lost in Translation

The Leopard's Apprentice

By

Lady of the Shire

* * *

Chapter 5

The Things that are Lost in Translation

* * *

_DISCLAIMER: MegaMan NT Warrior and all related entities are the property of ShoPro, Viz Media, Ryo Takamisaki, and related partners. _

* * *

"Frank, I wanted to talk to you about your daughter," said Mrs. Liddell, the English teacher.

The gentleman across from her gave a nod of acknowledgement. "Yes. I was a bit surprised when you called yesterday Sara," he sheepishly replied. "We did not see any bad marks when she brought home her report card."

"Well, it isn't her academics that are struggling. I am glad to say that we have never had a problem in that department," the woman smiled. "However, what I do want to discuss with you might take priority over that," she continued with a more serious tone. "I was hoping that your wife, Michelle, would be with you as well."

"Oh, I am sorry about that. My wife had already made arrangements for a trip prior and was unable to change her plans in time," Mr. Merchant apologized, rubbing the back of his head.

"That is quite alright," said Sara. "Now, if you don't mind, I wanted to begin by asking this question: Is your daughter normally confrontational at home?"

Mr. Merchant closed the door to the teacher's classroom behind him. He then checked to make sure he had all of his belongings before wiping his brow from the summer heat. It wasn't even April yet and the temperatures had already hit records only seen in July. Then, he looked down to note that someone sat to his right. A girl no more than about twelve with chin-length dark brown hair accompanied by two pink barrettes was slouched on the worn wooden bench that erected out of the cream-colored cinder block wall. Her dark arms were folded tightly around her chest, clad in a white shirt with mid-length pink sleeves and her equally-dark scrawny legs crossed in front of her jutted out of her orange shorts. She lightly knocked her white sneakers together. The girl stared out into the empty playground with an intense glare in her features. Then, she looked up at her father with the same expression.

The man smiled back at her before he let out a small sigh. "Let's go Alicia," he quietly beckoned.

During the car ride home, Alicia mimicked the same posture as she did on the bench in the front passenger seat. Her father glanced at her from time to time with a look of concern but dared not mention anything about the meeting that had just transpired. He frowned after each time. To make matters worse, the suffocating humidity left him with a twinge of irritation. For a moment, it didn't seem too unreasonable to develop the same expression as his daughter. Without any breeze, the air quickly became stagnant. Not even the fully wound down windows seemed to beckon any fresh air.

Finally, after the fifth traffic light in silence, he spoke up. "Mrs. Liddell tells me that you did very well on your creative writing essay," he said. "They are even considering entering it into the local writing competition."

No response.

"I am glad that you found a topic that you enjoyed. I know that you were having a hard time with that part," he continued.

Still nothing.

"We have to tell your mother, when she gets back. I am sure that—"

Then, Alicia muttered something inaudible.

"What did you say, dear?" he asked.

The girl straightened herself in the seat. "I said he called you a 'jackass'," she grumbled.

Mr. Merchant scratched the side of his beard. "Who did?" he asked.

"That boy," replied Alicia.

"You mean the one who you punched in the face," her father confirmed.

"Yeah, and then dragged him over to that puddle to show him what a real jackass looked like," she hissed.

"Alicia—"

The girl's eyes widened. "I made that little punk cry like the fat little pig he is!" Alicia sneered.

"Alicia!" her father cried out as he directed his full attention to his daughter.

"He started it!" she retorted as she turned on her father.

"You…you can't just go around beating up everyone who you don't agree with," Mr. Merchant quietly countered. "There is a time and place—"

"For everything, I know," Alicia finished as she rolled her eyes. "Nobody likes that bully anyway. I did everyone a favor," she said.

"I know, I know. And I can't say that I am not happy that you stood up for your Old Man," he laughed as he returned his attention to the road when the traffic light turned green. Then, his expression softened. "Just promise me that you will be a bit less blunt with what you do _and _say?" he pleaded.

"You make it sound like it happens every day," the girl said as she averted her gaze.

"With the way you're going, it will!" her father countered as his face hardened. He then glanced at his daughter, only to note the rather somber expression on her face. Mr. Merchant sighed and then reached over to place his hand atop of her head.

"You're okay Alicia," he softly mumbled.

* * *

"Dr. Merchant?" called out a voice.

No response.

"Dr. Merchant."

"Dr. Merchant!"

"ALICIA!?"

"I heard you the first time!" the woman exclaimed.

"Then, why didn't you answer?" countered the other individual.

"Because I was thinking! You distracted my thoughts!" she grumbled as she turned away from the owner of the voice.

"Well if I could just disrupt your ever important thought process for one second," the gentleman replied with a sarcastic tone, "they are letting individuals into the ballroom now."

Dr. Merchant glared up at him. "You're lucky you are almost a foot taller than me, Jan Masaryk. Otherwise, I would wipe that smug look off of your pale face."

The man's blue eyes widened in horror. "That is just rude! With all due respect, I don't make any derogatory comments about your appearance!" he hissed while maintaining some level of decency.

Dr. Alicia Merchant was born in the suburban countryside. Her mother owned a small alterations establishment and her father was a teacher at the local elementary school that she attended as a girl. The family's community was about an hour from the nearest metropolitan area. It was peaceful there. No one even fathomed the idea that any sort of conflict involving their nation would have anything to do with their small town. The elder individuals never spoke about the numerous riots or insurgents that happened on a daily basis. Nor did the children ever overhear such conversations from their parents. So, it came as a surprise to everyone when the Merchant couple's only daughter decided to go into politics.

Alicia's parents were perplexed. The young woman had never even shown interest in such a career option. Actually, she had remained rather soft-spoken with regards to the subject. Most of her classmates already had a general idea of what discipline they might be interested in by high school. In contrast, she continued her studies, apparently oblivious. In fact, she was indifferent towards most of her peers. Alicia was rather modest, so to speak; she preferred discretion. However, she did engage in conversation occasionally, cultured yet frank with her responses. As a result, others eventually noted her honesty, regardless of their overall opinion of the woman. Yet, Dr. Merchant became rather outspoken when challenged; a disturbing contrast to her normal persona. Her demeanor became assertive and her language more potent, even destructive. Such an unlikely individual could transform into a force that was to be reckoned with. She often reminisced of one instance while she was in elementary school. An older student passed a rather rude remark concerning her father. Alicia could not suppress her desire to explode. She deemed her anger as justified and effective, given that the boy had to be homeschooled for the rest of the year….

Despite such confrontations, Alicia actually acknowledged people as intriguing. Yet, her opinions of them were rather cynical at times. The language, appearance, and mannerisms that characterized individuals varied drastically. The woman preferred to quietly observe these distinctions and note the idiosyncrasies that she believed defined a human being. Her persona might have been part of the reason for such curiosity. She did not necessarily consider herself isolated but did have a difficult time understanding the emotions of her peers. Consequently, she had experienced a number of…less than desirable encounters. However, she never shared these thoughts with anyone, not even her mother and father. She did not wish to burden her parents with her shortcomings. Perhaps the unconscious lessons of her peers were more than enough to address what she perceived as flaws in her personality. Alicia viewed the comprehension of the human psyche as an interesting challenge. Yet, an isolated analysis was too abstract and impractical. However, the political environment had appealed to Alicia as a tangible application of the same elements she longed to understand.

Thus, Dr. Merchant focused the remainder of her education on the fundamentals she required for such an endeavor: the field of psychology. During that time, she also developed a more open persona. To Alicia, the most effective means of comprehension was through communication. Dr. Merchant presented herself to others with a more "diplomatic" air, even if she was nowhere near the level of an engaging conversationalist. However, diplomacy proved to nurture her assertive nature as well. She discovered that such a profession surprisingly complimented both extremes of her personality: from the reserved spectator to the relentless combatant.

This time was no different.

She and another representative, Dr. Jan Masaryk, had been requested to accompany their prime minister to a meeting with a number of military delegates from the adjacent country of Sharo. The meeting dealt with damages to freight lines from the insurgencies that had erupted within the past few months, in proximity to the neighboring country's military posts. Despite her displeasure of having to meet with these individuals in particular, she found nothing wrong with _that _portion of the assignment. It was just business.

However, if she was strictly here on "business"—

"_Then, why am I at this party?"_ she asked herself.

The hosts of the delegation had arranged for a cordial "meet and greet" for everyone the night before. Dr. Merchant did not want to go. She would have rather retired early in preparation for the next day. In her opinion, it was just another stunt for those individuals concerned with PR. Despite her progress to improve her social skills, the woman only chose to do so when necessary. She did not make it habit to voluntarily approach people. Thus, such functions proved to be unbearable. To make matters worse, Alicia would have actually gotten away with not attending if it hadn't been for her mother. The woman regretted that she provided details about her assignment. How her mother ever figured out that it was a black-tie event, Dr. Merchant will never know. By the morning of Alicia's flight, there was a courier on her doorstep with an oversized package; she did not even ask who it was from or what it might be. Alicia quickly signed for the large item and brought it inside. This was her mother's doing; that woman always sent her a "gift" in such a scenario. Not that she had not inherited some of her mother's eye for clothes but how these dresses always ended up being a perfect fit without her ever being fitted each time was a mystery, even if it was her mom. How did she know if her daughter had gained or lost five pounds, especially since she had not been home since last Christmas?!

She sat at the farthest table from all of the excitement in the ballroom and watched everyone mingle as they exchanged heartfelt laughter and gestures of camaraderie. It was only then when she realized that she was the only woman in the room that wore a ball gown that was probably ten shades lighter than her dark complexion, fitted in beige satin and embroidered silver hibiscus flowers that ran down the length of the dress, from the strapless bodice to the hem. Alicia shifted in her seat and noted the uncomfortable coarse fabric tightly wrapped around her frame, especially across her small chest. She sighed and craned her neck over the back of her seat. Not too long after, Alicia realized that such a position would lead to a sore neck and quickly straightened her posture. The frigid air that circulated throughout the ballroom left goose-bumps across the doctor's arms; she wrapped the dress' shawl tightly about her as she hunched her shoulders. She even had to suppress the desire to drape the fabric over her head in order to eliminate the cold air's caress of her bare scalp. The woman felt drained as she wiggled her pedicured toes exposed to the air by her heels. Then she looked at her hands. She was not necessarily keen when it came to such feminine habits.

But, her profession carried a particular image.

Just another necessary evil.

"A penny for your thoughts?" asked a familiar voice.

The woman flinched, hopeful that the gesture was interpreted to be caused by the temperature of the room.

"You should refrain from exercising such hackneyed idioms, Dr. Masaryk. Some will view it as a feign attempt at appearing scholarly," Alicia said.

Masaryk frowned. "You know, you could have just said nothing," he mocked.

He received a very indifferent glance from his partner. "If you are implying what I think you are then shut up."

Dr. Masaryk was three years her junior, a sociologist by trade. He had studied the evolution of societal norms due to the eruption of conflict for his doctoral thesis. Dr. Merchant was assigned to act as his mentor for the past three years upon his completion of the civil service exams. Obviously, she had no say in the matter; so he did not have as pleasant a transition into his new profession as he would have liked. However, much to the surprise of most of the other delegates, he appeared to have grown immune to most of the woman's caustic remarks in a rather short period of time. Even more shocking was that Dr. Merchant had apparently grown tolerant of his presence. "I was going to go get some refreshments. Would you like something to drink?" he asked as he turned around to leave. Alicia did not even look up at him. "No, thank you," she sighed. Jan looked at her for a moment before he nodded. As he walked away Dr. Merchant decided to change her posture. She reclined back into her chair, crossed her legs, and bowed her head once more. She did not want to give the impression that she was bored in the middle of such a lively gathering but she was tired from her travels and wished that she could simply retire early to her room for the night.

Then, as she pondered over that thought for a third time, a shadow entered her field of vision as she gazed down at the floor.

"Did you change your mind about the refreshments, Masaryk?" she asked the figure.

"No. In fact, I suggest that you help yourself to a number of the hors d'oeuvres before the night is over," replied a new voice.

Alicia snapped her head up.

The gentleman in full uniform stared down at her. He smiled. "I am surprised that you are being so reserved, Dr. Merchant," commented the man as he folded his hands behind him. "As exquisite as you look tonight, you should be fluttering around the room as the beautiful social butterfly you are," he cooed while leaning towards her. At first, Alicia returned a blank stare. Then, the edges of her lips gradually curled into a smile as she turned away to view him out of the corner of her eyes and supported her head with an arm resting on the table. "Dr. Verstand, your wife is here isn't she?" she flatly asked. The gentleman's eyes widened. "Of course she is!" he chimed. Then, she shot the gentleman a glare. "Does she know that act in this sort of fashion?" Dr. Merchant countered as she casually casted a hand at his current stance. Dr. Verstand stood erect. "She is okay with it as long as it is with you," he laughed. "She knows that I haven't got a snowball's chance in Hell," he added darkly as he averted his gaze.

"Well, in that case I am flattered," Alicia replied. "Now, what is it that I can do for you, Brigadier General?" she asked.

"Oh, no, no, no!" he cordially countered, waving a disapproving finger at her. "My dear, I have been promoted since the last time we have seen one another!"

"Oh, really?!" she chimed with feigned enthusiasm. "So what should I refer to you now?"

"I, Major General Verstand, do believe it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma'am," he announced as he bowed briefly. "As for my business here: Would you do me the honor dancing with me?" he asked with an outstretched hand.

Dr. Merchant froze.

She couldn't dance.

He knew that.

"_That ill-hearted son of a bitch!" _ her thoughts hissed. "_I'll kill—"_

"That's a wonderful idea, Major General," called out a voice from behind Alicia's chair. She twisted around in her seat as Dr. Verstand looked up to greet the newcomer.

"Dr. Merchant has been rather down this evening," continued Jan as he approached the two. "I think that she should be a bit more proactive, don't you think Dr. Verstand?" he smiled.

Alicia shot daggers at her subordinate. "_That damned idiot!"_

Oblivious to her shortcomings, he returned a smile. "Oh, don't be nervous Dr. Merchant. From what I hear, Verstand is very nimble!" he chimed.

"Ah, Dr. Masaryk, it is a pleasure to see you again," greeted Verstand as he shook the other man's hand over Alicia's seat. "And what you have heard is true! That's one thing that my age hasn't stolen from me as of yet!" he laughed.

Alicia was going to be sick.

Suddenly, she felt a gentle grip about her arm, which lifted her out of her seat. Before she realized it she was arm-in-arm with the Major General.

Verstand looked down at her.

"Shall we?" he gestured towards the center of the ballroom. Alicia stared back at him with an impassive expression on the surface while underneath she was in a bewildered turmoil. However, there was no way that she would betray those terrified feelings in front of this man.

No, that is all he would need to destroy her.

As she processed in her mind what the Major General's ulterior motives could be, she had already been spirited away. "_Damn him,"_ she thought. For once she thought that she could come out victorious during one of their encounters. Since the first time she met Verstand, this man successfully chiseled away at her pride. If her suspicions were correct, this time would be no different.

"_There is no way in hell that will happen!"_

It would be an understatement to say that the two did not always see eye-to-eye on affairs. Thus, it was anticipated that conflict would arise as a result of their opposing interests. Merchant's endeavors focused on decreasing the number of military posts along the border of her country and Sharo. Verstand's interests focused on maintaining that presence, which would only intensify the diplomatic tension between the two states. The only problem was that there was something very disturbing about Aldrich L. Verstand that the woman could never put her finger on. Never had she ever seen the man act out in a violent manner nor suggest any sort of aggression as a solution to the issue. He always carried such a sophisticated and scholarly demeanor. Nonetheless, Alicia always felt psychologically drained after debating with him. Even a casual conversation with him left her on edge, even if it didn't show. One lesson that she had learned long ago was to never betray her emotions in front of an opponent. This proved to be even more dire in her current profession, especially each time she stood behind the podium to address an opposing opinion, the press, or this man. She observed how even what appeared to be the most innocent of his expressions, body language, and word choice destroyed an individual's constitution within seconds: the epitome of psychological warfare. Rationally, she was terrified. However, such communicative skill enthralled her philosophical side. Comprehension of this man was critical for the progress her personal endeavor. Needless to say, he was _very _successful when it came to…the art of diplomacy.

Tomorrow was going to be a very long day.

But, tonight he was his overly-cordial self.

Unlike her, he was a very social individual.

These settings were his natural habitat.

It was her who felt the most alienated.

Her heels _clicked _against the ground, which signaled to her that they had reached the crowded dance floor. Alicia glanced from left to right. Instantly, she recognized a number of prominent representatives who were also attending the negotiations tomorrow, most of which planned to act as neutral parties of observation. A plethora of laughter and excited dialogue bubbled amongst them. As they weaved through the crowds, she watched as couples pranced by as they followed through with a quickstep or leisurely flowing with the graceful strides of a bolero. Alicia frowned. Suddenly, Verstand spoke up. "You don't have to worry Dr. Merchant," he said as they strode. "All you have to do is follow my lead. Remember, it is supposed to be fun so don't concentrate too much on your movements," the gentleman continued as he reassuringly patted the hand of the woman's linked arm. Dr. Merchant glanced down at his hand, which now rested atop of hers, then observed his stern expression as he faced forward into the crowd. The woman watched that intimidating air. She thought to herself that perhaps he saw this as another diplomatic measurement, coerced into such a cordial manner due to the social setting. Dr. Merchant understood the principal of courtesy but not to the point of hypocrisy. Sometimes, that resulted in a positive outcome with some individuals, who applauded her for her honesty. Unfortunately, those good situations seemed few and far between. Nonetheless, she did gain a high level of respect from her peers. She expected that not all of her colleagues shared the same level of dedication but it was easier to sense the sincerity of their actions. What frightened her most about _this _man was that it appeared as if he had a split personality. That aspect went well beyond the concept of "professionalism." As Verstand walked at her side he carried a completely different demeanor to the one she observed behind closed doors: the gentle, out-going gentleman versus the stoic and dogmatic officer. From that experience, she had come to this conclusion with regards to Dr. Aldrich L. Verstand:

It was very difficult to read this man.

That could prove to be dangerous….

Very dangerous.

"Are you alright, Dr. Merchant?" asked Verstand.

Alicia looked up to greet his concerned expression. It was only then that she realized that they were engaged in a waltz. She glanced around, slightly bewildered as she noted instinctive moves across the dance-floor. Then, she snapped back her attention to her dancing partner upon his eruption into a loud guffaw. "See, I told you! There was nothing to be worried about," he smiled. However, Dr. Merchant only returned a blank stare. "I suppose you were not trying to deceive me, Doctor," she finally replied. Verstand looked hurt. "What?! Why would I do such a thing?!" he cried. "I am insulted that you would actually consider that I would do something so calculating, so deceiving, so conniving, so—"

"You are being repetitive! I understand already!" Alicia snapped. "However, even you would have to admit that your personal history is not in your favor," she continued.

Verstand's eyes widened. "Well, I suppose in that context…you do have a point," he said, downcast. "Regardless, this is hardly the time or place—"

"Precisely, this _is _hardly the time or place," Alicia quietly interrupted, with an intense expression.

The gentleman returned the gesture. "I cannot say that I have made the most chivalrous actions but it…is a means to an end," he replied. "We are not here purely for aesthetic purposes." Then, he averted his cold gaze. "You out off all of these people in the room should know that," he slowly said, as he returned his attention on her. For a moment, Dr. Merchant almost wished that he had not looked at her.

"I understand that Dr. Verstand," she mumbled.

"You, in particular, have a very important goal in mind, Dr. Merchant," he said coolly. His tone of voice had changed. She recognized that tone.

When?

When did _this _Verstand surface?

"You cannot deny that you have an ulterior motive as well," he continued.

Alicia remained silent.

"In such a time, there are instances where we must sacrifice our personal morals for the sake of our endeavors, especially if our goals impact an entire society," Verstand said. After, a smile crept on his face. "I know that you do not like me, Dr. Merchant," he almost whispered. "I do not blame you either. You and I are entangled in a conflict of interest, after all. Nonetheless, that does not change the fact that I will try everything in my power to make sure that I go home with as many victories as possible. I suggest that you do the same."

Alicia narrowed her eyes.

Suddenly, his demeanor reverted back. "That reminds me," he began with an inquisitive air. Then, he leaned towards her ear, his coarse white beard tickled. "Is your father well, Alicia?" he whispered.

**SLAP!**

The woman's face was in disarray. She had taken a defensive stance while the sting on her flattened palm lingered where it had struck the gentleman across the face. A tremor of seething anger had ravaged through her body, which forced her entire frame to tremble due to the remnants of exhaustion. Her heated bosom rose and fell heavily through the tight bodice as she gasped for air. Verstand's head was still placed in the direction it had been twisted from the blow, which left an eminent welt across his face. By this time, the other occupants of the dance floor closest to the two had become distracted by the sudden upheaval. The hands of some of the women flew to their faces in order to hide their astonishment while the men simply stood as they exchanged perplexed glances.

But Alicia didn't care. She didn't care how many people watched. She didn't care how this would affect the opinion of her peers.

She had never cared.

Nor was she disheartened by the glare that man had casted on her flustered state out of the corner of his eye.

And she didn't care about what she was about to say:

"You uncouth swine! You manipulate the lives around you as if they are expendable playthings! You corrupt people!"

A storm of violent words was followed by clatter of heels away from the center of the floor with only a gather of confused and flustered bystanders in her wake. She did not turn around to even note if the object of her aggressive outburst had pursued her, with a mirror of her livid expression. Unfortunately, Alicia did not anticipate another familiar to be on her tail. By the time she had flung open the door to the ballroom, a broad hand gripped her about her shoulder. Upon instinct, Dr. Merchant spun around to retaliate against an expected counterattack, only to be greeted by a man of taller statue, younger physique, and an even more enraged demeanor then she had anticipated.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Dr. Masaryk hissed as he drew closer.

"Let go of me," she snarled in a deeper tone than expected.

Dr. Masaryk's scowl only deepened. "Might I remind you that we are _not _here to stir animosity!?"

"You want to observe a harbinger of animosity?!" she began with an unsteady tone. Then, she jabbed a finger towards her former place in the room. "Befriend that monster over there!" Dr. Merchant spat.

Her partner dragged down her arm. "I am not going to let you ruin this entire assignment over your own personal hostility towards others!"

"Don't be an _idiot_! As if I could even show my face in there again after what that man said!" Alicia spat.

Masaryk's expression darkened. "That was of your own doing!"

Alicia wrung out of Dr. Masaryk's grip. "Disgusting," she said before she continued on her way.

Masaryk stood at the ballroom doorway as she stormed off.

That hurt.

That really hurt.

It was a painful bludgeon to his pride.

No matter how many times he tried to prove that he shared her viewpoint towards abiding by their duties, she always belittled him. He never felt that she fully acknowledged his ability.

Never.

Dr. Masaryk simply watched his mentor storm down the hallway towards the hotel lobby. All of his thought processes were at a standstill, primarily because of his frustration to have been unable to respond in any fashion. He felt as if he had reverted back to a child, just scolded by his mother and unable to retort in his defense for fear of being reprimanded. But, he continued to watch her until she was out of sight, with his head held high. Regardless of the situation, he was well beyond the age where he could respond with tears and sputtered nonsense, all fueled by frustration at his own self and towards a lack of comprehension of _her_ psyche.

"There is a common proverb that speaks of every hundred or so roses that bloom there is at least one born without thorns, hidden within a thicket of its brethren," someone said from behind Masaryk.

The gentleman did not have to turn around to know who was addressing him.

"I would say that she is the epitome of such a statement," Verstand continued as he held up something to the side of his face.

"It would seem that you have upset her, Dr. Verstand," Masaryk replied with more of a hardened tone than he had intentioned.

Unfortunately, Verstand noticed. "I did not mean to offend her. However, what I spoke of was the truth Dr. Masaryk."

Jan drew closer to the officer while he maintained eye contact. "Maybe so, but this is hardly the place for engaging in such conversati—" He stopped when he noted what Verstand had rested against his face:

"Why is there a wine glass against your cheek?" he asked flatly.

"It was the coldest thing my wife could think of to minimize any swelling that might transpire afterwards," Verstand nonchalantly replied. Then, he averted his gaze. "Then, she might just be giving me time to recover before she has her turn with me," he nervously chuckled.

Masaryk gawked. "Did I miss something? I thought Dr. Merchant only _slapped_ you in the face!"

"She did! But, she is much stronger than what you would consider by first-glance," Verstand said while he took a step back. "Though I must admit, I actually anticipated that she was going to punch me."

Masaryk sighed. "Dr. Verstand—"

"However, I still have a bit of my dexterity and agility left from my younger days—"

The younger man cleared his throat. "Dr. Verstand—"

"Which I don't think could ever compare to hers—"

"I _believe _it would be best if you went and apologized to her," Dr. Masaryk said.

Aldrich responded with a dry expression. He then squared his shoulders and leered at him. Masaryk was rooted to where he stood, unable to move under such an intimidating situation, but still able to prevent his unsecured mask of stoicism from slipping off of his eyes. However, his glasses were slightly askew.

Finally, when the doctor's gaze seemed unbearable, Verstand finally looked away and rolled his eyes out of apathy.

"On the contrary, I would suggest you pass on the following trivial piece of advice to your mentor," he began. Then, he turned to face Jan. "If she is going to continue placing her faith in such a naïve philosophy, she will not exist for very much longer."

Perhaps it was the gentleman's tone at the moment that caught Masaryk off-guard. Otherwise, it had to be that dangerous expression on his face. Regardless, Jan had left himself completely vulnerable and thus betrayed such an expression.

"_No. I was told never to express any form of hesitation in front of this person. She told me that."_

In response, Verstand grinned, but that action did nothing to alleviate Jan's anxiety, which bubbled underneath the surface. In fact, the gesture only deepened such uneasiness.

"I see that you fully comprehend my sentiment," the doctor said calmly.

Jan said nothing. His composure was uncomfortably rigid, his mouth clamped tightly.

Verstand chuckled and then turned to leave. "Despite what she may say about you Dr. Masaryk, I believe that you are much smarter than most—"

Then, after a few strides he added: "—especially her."

* * *

Then she was gone.

It marked almost five years to her disappearance. Jan had never been able to push aside neither what Verstand nor she had said that night. On the surface it would appear as if he was overly sensitive about this matter, but in reality it was because he felt that he had played a big part in what had transpired….

A _very _big part.

Nonetheless, he continued onward with another chapter of his life but at a brisk pace in newly purchased tennis sneakers, which still squeaked their infancy as they streaked across sanitized linoleum floors. He had to recollect on how to swiftly speed around nurses, stretchers, and wheelchair-bound patients instead of the careful evasion of throngs of diplomats and evening gowns that threatened to pose as a trip hazard. Perhaps, that world had not been his forte, so to speak. He wanted to help people but it appeared that he had proven that he did not have the appropriate personality.

He did not have _her _personality.

He wasn't strong enough to do what he felt was necessary, especially if it required him to place himself in harm's way. Instead, he had used his mentor as a shield to take the fatal blow of a full-frontal assault.

Not very chivalrous of him, was it?

Nonetheless, his path quickly turned towards this new venture of his career. Then, it turned once more and passed the employee lounge on his right. Next, his traveled to the end of the hallway, blasting through the double doors leading to the entrance to the stairwell. Up three flights of stairs (the elevator would have allowed for his mind to become congested with too many impeding thoughts) and out to another hallway, almost identical in the decorum shared by both the inanimate and the living objects on the previous floor. However, there was one exception: the "Division of Psychology and Psychoanalysis" sign overhead. He phased through the two heavy double doors and continued forward. His daily routine was composed of 12-hour shifts, including early mornings and late nights within this area of this hospital. The only advantage was that he was only _required _to be at the hospital three days a week. Unfortunately, the last time he remembered doing so was during his first week of being hired to the physician staff, not to mention that he was technically on call 24-hours a day for any emergencies, which seemed to be quite frequent for this division.

Today was no different. He arrived at his mailbox. It appeared as if a number of new patients had been admitted overnight for "psychological evaluation", which could mean as many negative possibilities as there were stars in the Milky Way. Of course, it was _his _job to pinpoint the "acceptable" solution to address each patient's ailments. It was obvious that some of these soldiers would never be fully diagnosed. That is just how abysmal the mind could be; it developed multiple conditions that could overlap, conflict, or substitute themselves for one another at any point in time. Sometimes only a menial event was necessary to trigger such a metamorphosis, depending on the source of the traumatic experience.

So, in short, there was never a dull moment for Dr. Masaryk.

Jan emptied the contents and carefully arranged them in order of the room number. Then, he walked towards his office. The doctor would evaluate the patients based on the synopsis of the situation and symptoms that were recorded by the first-response physician, who met with each individual prior to their departure, and then take note of the observations made by the nurses that were on shift last night. Sometimes that was the only information that he was able to work with, given that either the patient was too incapacitated to communicate or additional sources of information were stationed hundreds of miles away and nearly impossible to get into contact with (for a number of reasons that he would rather avoid reminiscing upon). Jan thumbed through the third file in his tidy stack. Again, similar symptoms suggested that this patient had developed Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. It was expected. A large influx of similar cases had been admitted in the past few months, partially due to the current conflicts transpiring at the border. Consequently, most patients could be connected to one another through acquaintanceship or some other familiarity. That seemed to be the case with the first five cases. Such an observation could prove to be advantageous when the time came for a personal visit to each individual. Prior experience had proven that such connections assisted in the recovery process, since the soldiers would have someone to relate to.

But then there was that sixth case…

Aside from basic personal information, most of the data on the patient was either labeled not available or left blank. This could translate into two possibilities: either the person who filled out the form had not been the doctor (which usually occurred if there had been a serious emergency) or there was an influx of individuals being discharged simultaneously. So with very little information, this case would most likely have to be prioritized over the others. More data would be needed before the official initial evaluation of the patient's condition.

That meant he would have to personally go to that patient.

That meant he would have to get up out of his seat….

Jan sighed. The last thing he wanted was something to break his usual routine, especially since this new development meant that what would normally take only the morning would most likely languidly stretch on into the afternoon or more accurately the evening…and he would have only completed a quarter of the things he had wanted to accomplish today. Now with a grunt of disgust, the doctor shot out of his seat and slammed the respective folder shut. Its contents juxtaposed as they peeked out of the corners. Then, he stormed over to the door…but then stormed back to his desk when he remembered that he had forgotten to carry a pen. That would have been the straw that broke! If he had gone all the way to the fifth floor and realized that he had not brought anything to write with, he would have surely needed to be admitted to a room the same day. So, down the hall once more, past the stretchers, monitoring equipment, and personnel that crossed his path. He quickly sneaked past the nurses' station; heaven forbid they stopped him to add any more to his work load.

Finally, he was at the elevator (the stairs would have allowed for his mind to become congested with too many impeding thoughts).

Up button.

He waited…

And waited...

And waited!

At last, the doors opened. Of course, it was occupied at maximum capacity. So he waited for the next available one.

Eventually, he reached the right floor.

Once more he evaded the nurses' station and made a sharp right at the second hallway from that point.

He quickened his pace as he reached his final destination and weaved around the relatively crowded corridor.

Finally, he found room 503. Instinctively, he grabbed the binder that rested in the document holder adjacent to the door and briefly thumbed through its contents. Still, there was very little information to go by aside from vitals recorded by the previous shift. Simultaneously, the doctor practically rammed through the door and slammed it behind him while still immersed in the additional file now in his hands. Almost immediately after, he looked up and closed the binder with one hand as he prepared to announce the patient's name.

He froze.

The room was empty.

As with most of the rooms on this floor, it was a private room. No one could afford to even fathom the idea of housing two mentally unstable individuals in close proximity to one another. However, the room was rather sparse, only housing a hospital bed positioned close to the door, complete with privacy drapes collected on one side and cabinets for housing medical supplies on the other. One large window allowed morning sunlight to highlight the numerous whitewashed tiles residing in the empty area of the room. The lights were off to conserve energy and the bed was neatly made. And empty. There were no monitoring devices housed in the room. So, was the patient moved to another room or undergoing another medical examination?

Jan furrowed his brow in confusion. In the meantime, he glanced at the binder cover and at that of the case file. The room number's matched so he was in the right room!

"I don't have any record of the patient being relocated," he muttered to himself. Then, Dr. Masaryk proceeded to open the binder once more. "This records the admission yesterday at 10:30 PM," he continued as he scratched his short blond hair. "If that is the case, perhaps they haven't finished the medical examination."

Glasses askew, he slammed the book shut again. "Well, that would explain why most of this information has been left blank," he said as he massaged the bridge of his nose. It wasn't even nine o'clock yet and he already felt an overwhelming amount of fatigue. "Coffee, coffee," Jan whispered to himself. "That is what I need." He shook his head and turned—

**WHAM!**

A grunt of alarm was quickly followed by the impetuous _thud_ of dead weight complied into crumpled heap upon the floor. The items in the victim's hand clattered along the polished ground.

Afterwards, there was silence within the room.

However, that hushed atmosphere was hesitantly disturbed by a quiet patter of bare feet, clammy against the cold tile as they slowly strode over. Footsteps were accompanied by the soft rustle of the polyester fabric that comprised the hospital nightwear worn by the figure. After the individual was in proximity to the unconscious gentleman, the disarrayed papers were calmly collected, re-organized, and stacked back into their respective folders. Then, the objects were placed onto a nearby nightstand.

Finally, the individual was ready to address his victim.

Dr. Masaryk had fallen onto his left side. His head rested on his left arm outstretched across the floor, which had thankfully cushioned his fall.

The figure that now towered over the fallen doctor crouched down next to the gentleman and scanned him to assess the damage he had inflicted.

Raika heaved a lengthy sigh.

"This is just not your day, is it doctor?" he asked the unconscious Masaryk. The young man then tested his forearm as he felt a slight twinge from the blow he had subjected. Raika frowned. "Maybe that was a bit too much."

The young man checked the down figure's vital signs. Stunned but nothing more.

Then, something caught the soldier's attention, jutted out of one of the pockets on the doctor's lab coat. He reached for it.

An access card twirled nimbly through his fingers.

"This is just not your day."

* * *

To be continued…

* * *

R&R

LOTS

Author's Notes: Just for clarification, all characters introduced in this chapter, aside from Raika (duh) are original characters. Special thanks to RegalAngel18 for beta.


	7. The One-Hundred Years of Solitude

The Leopard's Apprentice

By

Lady of the Shire

* * *

Chapter 6

The One-Hundred Years of Solitude

* * *

_DISCLAIMER: MegaMan NT Warrior and all related entities are the property of ShoPro, Viz Media, Ryo Takamisaki, and related partners._

* * *

_A few hours earlier…_

The turbulence within dreams resonates into what we refer to as nightmares. Even more bizarre is that those nightmares are usually reflections of our reality. Some may interpret such phenomena through the Freudian plane, if that proves to appease doubt. However, such principles are a product of rationalization. Dreams are anything but rational. Despite what they might be inspired by from our plane of existence, they never cease to invoke a level of surrealism and abstractedness that not even Dali could ascertain. The mind is truly the ultimate masterpiece that he struggled to grasp. It is the antithesis of reality once broken down to just the subconscious level. It is the life spring of dreams…and the crux of nightmares.

Yet, as much as I had come to appreciate their encrypted messages of caution, I am still somewhat of a skeptic. In the past, I never truly reflected on an unusual episode during those final few minutes before I wake up. I normally continued on with my usual daily routine without even a recollection of what I had dreamt about the night before. I felt it was a waste of time. What would I achieve if I was to languish on how such grotesque and surreal images were conceived? How could I rationalize that which could never even be reproduced by any element in this world? That was my justification.

But then I dreamt of the mountains.

I stood within the middle of a vast plane, a blanket of white. I felt numbness in all my extremities from the searing cold. My hands ran over the jagged texture of the damp bark belonging to the evergreen trees that surrounded me. The fleeting presence of my consciousness told me that I should be freezing. Rationalism was struggling to maintain its hold within my subconscious. I should be on the verge of frostbite, it said, from trekking around barefoot. I should collapse within that dream and enter another that I will never awake from. However, I ignored that warning and peered over the horizon to note a figure standing in the distance. It was difficult to make out the being that stood at the boundary between earth and sky. I felt as if it had cloaked itself within a fabric woven of its own insecurity and taciturnity. It appeared to be a bipedal being, which would easily loom over me if I were _that _close. Yet, I felt that I knew this individual. That same voice of reason coaxed me to approach the figure. I wanted to. I truly did. But, I discovered that I also harbored an irrational fear for that creature. Even as the whispers of encouragement escalated to ear-sundering bellows that reverberated into my subconscious world, I dared not move. This was one time that rationality was wrong. I just knew it. This was one time that instinct was the only means of survival. I got a better glimpse of its face for a fleeting moment. The beast stood on the horizon with eyes hued in a color that made my blood run cold…

I woke up.

A slate grey tiled ceiling greeted me.

No surprise. Apparently, most hospitals have yet to make the connection between patient recovery and aesthetics. I turned my head to the right to observe that the room was sparsely furnished. The only notable features were a medical cabinet against one wall and an additional panel for providing oxygen and other necessities on the opposite side to the cabinet, adjacent to my bed. That second panel should have been accompanied by another bed, which was probably removed prior to my arrival. I noted how sunlight seeped through the large window at the opposite end and bathed the whitewashed floor tiles. It appeared that illuminated area was almost as large as that of the missing bed. At least, that is what I could see with my privacy curtain fully drawn back towards the wall. As ridiculous as it sounded, I felt as if the sun was accommodating for the object. When I turned to my left, I noticed the proximity of the door to me. Also, there was a smaller cabinet tucked away in the corner farthest from the door.

My head sunk into the shallow pillow out of apathy. It would seem that my brain was not ready for the strain of adjusting to my surroundings, especially since only a quarter of my mental processing had been allocated for such an activity. The reminder was focused on the recollection of events that had led me to _another_ hospital bed. I am fully aware of the "occupational hazards" associated with my profession. However, given the fact that I have spent the last few months in an office eight hours a day, those risks were essentially non-existent. So how do I explain this episode? I squeezed my eyes shut once more. Then, I turned my head into the starched pillowcase and inhaled. The material scratched the side of my face as I was greeted by the faint scent of bleach and starch. I needed to recover from whatever I had suffered quickly so that I could leave this dismal room, regardless of the circumstances of my arrival.

I had to relax.

The only problem is that the room is deathly quiet. The only clock I noticed rested atop the hidden nightstand was digital. So, there would be no methodical rhythm of the second hand to help me count away the moments. At that moment, while I wracked my brain with a means to sustain my boredom, a metaphysical siren went off.

I should be worried.

I should be panicking.

I should be directing a larger portion of my brain power as to why I am in a hospital bed (again)!

What day was it? How long had I been here? When I was I going to be allowed to leave? Why am I here!? What happened to me? Was my situation life-threatening? Why was I here? Who can I ask to get a straight answer as to what happened to me? Why am I alone in this room? What time is it? **Why am I here? **The last question obnoxiously blared within me. It repeated constantly from whatever minute recess in my brain had conjured it. As much as it irked me, my rationalism was correct. I should be worried. I should be upset. I should be trying to recollect the last memory I had before I woke up here. I should be wondering when I can leave. When can I go home? What is going on at home? Have the plants been watered? Did the water bill arrive already? Is the mailbox overstuffed with junk mail again? Did I remember to turn off all the unnecessary lights? Was my office informed of my absence? How to I make sure? When do I have to report back to work? Did the last proposal I remember working on get submitted since I was unable to do so myself? How much work has accumulated on my desk? Who is keeping a watchful eye out for our "beloved" superv—

Ah.

That's right.

I remember now.

I understand why I am here.

I understand what this room translates to.

This room was a part of the setting for a game that I had been coerced into playing.

This place is dangerous.

Very dangerous.

I needed to leave.

**Now.**

To say that I leapt out of the bed would have been an understatement. I don't know how long I was asleep but I made sure to will my legs out of apathy _very_ quickly. Unfortunately, willpower only works to a certain point. I didn't even reach halfway to the door before I collapsed to the floor. Thus, I crawled the rest of the way. However, my endeavor abruptly ended when that same alarm screamed even louder, as if out of desperation. I had no choice but to deliberate why. Then, I realized that "I" was right once again. I was most likely housed at a military hospital. Hence, the second I walked through that door, barefoot and disoriented, I would have been slammed to the ground by approximately three or four security officials, each probably armed with more firepower than the entire local police force. That realization forced me to draw myself against the wall adjacent to the door.

Now I truly felt like a prisoner.

I drew up my legs underneath my chin as I recovered from my labored breathing. I suppose that I had not recuperated enough strength to be moving around so aggressively, given my display of acrobatics a few moments ago. After a moment of reflection, I rolled my shoulders and stretched out my legs along the ground. There was no reason for me to curl up into the fetal position. That was stupid. I'm still in one piece, aren't I? I don't feel any different, aside from the grogginess from having slept for what seemed to be a long time. If I am still of sound body and mind then I should be using this time as an opportunity to prepare my next move.

Such thoughts seeped into my head as the adrenaline of my Flight sequence began to subside. I reclined until it made contact with the wall behind me and stared up at the ceiling. That's right. No one had come to check on me. I should use this time to my advantage. How can I get out of this trap? More importantly, what can I do to save myself from this unrelenting solitude?

No.

I should not be viewing this stillness as a nuisance. I need to take advantage of all resources available to me, including isolation.

I closed my eyes.

I wanted my hearing to become my most prevalent sense. Thus, I remained completely still. I calmed my breathing and focused my concentration on the cold, smooth tiles that rested underneath my fingertips. Then, I wiggled my toes. The fabric of the hospital gown was coarse against the skin on my back. I craned my neck sideways from the discomfort before I redirected my attention back to the matter at hand.

What is my first move? How do I develop my strategy? What do I do once I get out of here? Well, first of all, I had something that I needed to finish. That something required that I re-establish access with the outside world. I needed to find a way out of this room for at least to achieve that purpose. To be honest, what happened to me afterwards was irrelevant.

That move would be the beginning of my endgame.

I went through a number of scenarios as I sat there. However, each solution was met with a slew of additional questions, most of which highlighted the disadvantages. I could have sworn that hours had passed by the time I decided to open my eyes again. Yet, the time displayed on the digital clock had barely changed. I sighed. Afterwards, I interlocked my fingers and pulled my arms over my head. My spine craned until I felt that _click_ of satisfaction in my vertebrae. That felt better. After, I stared down at my uncooperative legs. I frowned. Just sitting here wasn't going to help me walk properly again. I leaned toward my left foot until my fingers barely brushed against the toes. The tension passed through muscles in the back of my leg. I let go once the sensation began to cause discomfort. Then, I repeated the action on my other leg. I was careful with each movement. I feared that I might injure myself since I hadn't stretched like this in a long time. There were other stretches that I recalled as I finished. My lower back, thighs, shoulders, arms, and neck underwent similar exercises, all of which I performed while still sitting on the ground.

"Okay, that is a bit better," I told myself.

Yet, I was not as relaxed as I had anticipated. In fact, I became extremely irritated.

Perhaps it was because I had begun to become complacent with my setting or (more disturbingly) my situation. Nonetheless, I could not concentrate when such a pressing matter blatantly taunted me. I couldn't take it! This was ridiculous. I wasn't going to simply sit here and have it mock me for my own insecurities. At that moment, my irritation was not directed at my entrapment.

It was because that damned bed!

I had leapt out of it so quickly that the entire thing was completely disheveled, seeing that the blanket had been carelessly casted onto the floor, pillows were askew at the edges, and the liner pulled off the corner of the bed closest to my feet. It was also a constant reminder of my foolish and extravagant rush for the door. I know that it sounded ridiculous. But for some reason it kept distracting me.

So, I did the most logical thing I could possibly could at the moment…

* * *

I was an idiot.

I wasted those precious minutes on a menial task just to appease my own insecurity.

What good would it do for me to make the bed?!

I could use the excuse that it was the first step to nullify my occupation of this room. But, if anyone waltzed in here, they would surely register a patient sitting on the floor with his knees tucked underneath his chin within moments.

"It's not as if I can make myself invisible," I grumbled. I pulled my knees towards my chest once more and rested my head in my arms. Despite my previous opinion, it was more comfortable to change my posture occasionally. I wasn't doing it because I was starting to allow doubt to enter my head! But, in reality I had no idea what to do. I didn't know where I was. I had no idea how to find out without exposing myself. There was nothing that I could use as a means of self-defense or otherwise (all the cabinet doors and drawers were locked). So, I just had to wait. I had to be patient and see what my opponent's next move would be.

I hated that.

I felt like a stationary dartboard, already struck a few times near the outer edge. There was one dart left, sharpened and ready to pierce the Bull's Eye that was my heart.

What the Hell do I do now?

My head burrowed further into my arms. At this point, tearing out my hair would not have been such a bad idea. But, then that would be the first sign that I was losing this game. If I start showing any sign of weakness now, I will just spiral out of control. So, what else was there for me to do? I could just remain crumpled into a tight wad until the brink of psychosis lulled me to sleep. Yeah, right! As if I could fall asleep in such a position. My head resurfaced slightly to eye the floor. However, my brain had stopped processing about 90% of the information that was being fed to it at this point. I remained in that crouched position lost in thought and staring at nothing substantial. The only emotion that filtered through was the fact that I was completely pissed off at myself. I had already told myself that such behavior was ridiculous, just a sign of weakness. Yet, it was the only means of alleviating my anxiety at the moment, which left me even more infuriated.

Was this _his _game?

Is this how he planned to break me?

Was he that archaic to resort to such simple tactics in order to wear away at my mental endurance?

Ridiculous.

He was going to have to do more than this if he wanted to wring even a scrap of information out of me.

I entered this knowing what was at risk.

I wasn't going to be put down so easily.

I was in this to win.

I flinched.

My limbs sprawled all over the place as I fell onto my side. Thankfully, my shoulder took the blunt of the impact. I was able to elevate my head before it too collided into the cold tiled floor. With one leg hovered in the air, I instinctively glanced at the clock.

I had slept on the ground in such a poor crouched position for almost eight hours.

I had to get a closer look at the clock before I growled in frustration. Had I been that tired!? When I first work up, I had felt as if I had been asleep for days! A blunt palm slapped me on the forehead. I craned my back while still sprawled out awkwardly on the floor, like a terrier making a feeble attempt to scratch an itch he couldn't reach. My underside had fallen asleep, my legs were stiff, and my tailbone was in a world of pain from being positioned in such a manner for so long. A hand slid down my back towards the sore region as I continued to struggle out of my stringent form. "Ouch," I muttered. Finally, I gave up. Such inflictions could only be healed by time. An outstretched arm served as a substitute pillow for my head as I turned onto my side and glanced up at the actual objects resting on the undisturbed bed.

The good news was that it would seem that I still had yet to be discovered because I sure as Hell knew that if anyone had entered the room, I would have not woken up where I had. Yes. That is a good thing. The bad news is that now I had to re-condition my body so that I could at least try to walk once more. To make matters worse, I had lost precious time to conjure a plan.

"_A plan…"_

I turned on my back once more. The hand that had rested on my forehead now shielded my eyes.

What do I do?

What do I do now?

I sat up and instinctively flinched to the spasm that sparked through my lower back. Nonetheless, I was determined to sit. It wasn't as if lying on the floor was any more comfortable and the bed was out of the question. I stared at my surroundings as I remained seated on the ground. The bed was still where it always was. The walls were just as bleak as before. That small nightstand was still shrouded behind a layer of curtains, glaring at me with blaring red digital numbers. That door was still closed.

It was probably unlocked.

I crawled over until I had recovered my previous residence adjacent to the now mammoth-sized threshold. I randomly reminisced for a moment on my observation. It was funny how things were perceived so differently when I was a small child. Objects seemed too large and intimidating for such a long period of time….

"_What do I do now?"_

I glanced at the doorknob. "What do I do now?" I asked it. Morning light from the window had crept over the bed, which had obstructed my view of the rest of the room, as I sat on the ground. I noted the glint of the brass material.

"What do I do now?" I asked, a bit louder.

My hands had found their way to the border of the threshold on their own. Nails scraped lightly into the crème colored coating. They scratched the region that was a breath away from the knob….

I gritted my teeth. "W…what do I—"

**SLAM!**

A fresh breeze engulfed my face for a fleeting moment. An ensemble of voices and light erupted into the room, overshadowing the creeping sunbeam that was halfway to the base of the door. Then, the door fell back on its hinges and abruptly shut once more. For some reason, Prometheus came to mind. Was that what it was like when he bestowed his gift to humans? Almost as if an explosion had engulfed their senses? I sat there on the ground, legs folded in front of me; my hand, which had instinctively recoiled, hovered in the air. Mouth agape and eyes wide opened accompanied a mixture of relief and shear panic.

The door had answered my question.

A being clad in white had entered into my prison. If I was religious, I would have interpreted his manner of dress as symbolic. No. His attire was symbolic nonetheless. Another element had entered into the game and I planned to use it to my full advantage. A man who appeared to be not even a day over 35 had rushed into the room. He was probably over six feet tall, give or take. He appeared to be double that height from my point of view at the moment. I observed that he had neatly groomed blond hair with a thin pair of black spectacles resting over his eyes as I viewed him from behind. He definitely matched the prude, elitist stereotype from just those two observations. It was difficult to make out the rest of his face since it was currently housed in a large binder that he had been engrossed in since he arrived. He was of thin build, not lanky or meek but definitely not bulging to the brim with musculature. I gawked at him. Astonishingly, part of me was actually appalled that he hadn't had the decency to knock before entering! (You can definitely tell where my priorities were at the moment.) What if I had been sleeping? What if I was _trying _to sleep? It's bad enough that someone comes barging in when I'm trying to—

The gentleman slightly lifted his head out of the book. I had a better view of his face: long, somewhat thin, with an appropriate nose shaped for one of his facial structure. But something about him struck me as very plain. He looked like the type of person you could pass his desk every day at work but when someone asked you about him you would say "Wait that guy works here? I don't think I have ever seen him since I started!" He just…didn't seem the type to really highlight his existence to people.

My critique of this newcomer abruptly ceased when he finally looked up from his book.

I nearly retched.

My stomach felt as if it had stabbed itself with trillions of red-hot pokers.

It appeared is he was about to speak when his expression switched from indifference to that of confusion. I mimicked the transformation. Then, I followed his line of sight to that damned bed…

"_Oh." _

Perplexed, he (thankfully) scanned the rest of the room that was in front of him before he buried his face in the binder once more.

That is when I began to rise slowly from my place by the door. My body seemed sure of what the next course of action was but my mind had yet to comply. I had no idea what the hell I was going to do even though I realized that this was the opportunity I had been waiting for. I did have an objective, yes. But, I had failed to come to a consensus with my thoughts as to the best plan of attack. Each of my movements was methodical. I was completely terrified how close I was to ruining everything. Just a stray movement, a careless shuffle, or inhaling in the wrong manner could betray me. My eyes were glued to the person in front of me the whole time. I heard him mutter a few things but I was so focused on remaining silent that I paid no attention to what he was saying. When I was finally confident that I could stand without arousing suspicion, I crept towards him on the balls of my feet. I was still moving without any sort of direction as to what I was going to do once I was within arm's reach of this person. What should I do? Should I momentarily distract him before I few out the door? No. I couldn't leave looking like this. I had already decided on that. But, then what do I do if I were to overpower him? I could question him for information. After all, if he was here then perhaps that binder he was so transfixed on had some information pertaining to me. But then, how do I do so without him making too much of a ruckus? I don't want anyone outside to hear a commotion and come barging in.

I was frozen.

There were less than seven inches between this person and I. Enough room so that he could be subdued easily without too much of a struggle but also enough of a distance for me to retreat if necessary. So, I simply stood there, boring a hole between his shoulder blades since I realized that he was about three or four inches above my head. That could prove to be a disadvantage to me…

Anticipation left me impatient.

"_Come on, turn around already! Do something!" _I inwardly growled.

Suddenly, the book was slammed shut with one hand. It took everything within me not to flinch. He lifted his head towards the ceiling and appeared to massage the bridge of his nose.

"Coffee, coffee. That is what I need."

All I needed to see were his feet preparing to turn around. My left bare foot slid in between them and hooked his right ankle. Then, I pulled my foot towards me and he began to topple. Then, I (regrettably) immediately struck him near the occipital region of his skull. There was a strained grunt of alarm as his head snapped back in response to the blow before he was nothing more than a crumpled heap on the ground with the binder beside his head. He most likely never even saw my face as he was rendered unconscious before he hit the floor.

He was rendered unconscious…

"Damn it!" I whispered after I stooped down and shook him a few times to verify.

I sighed. I wasn't going to get the information that I desperately needed out of this man. It was the first time I could fully view is face and that of the name tag pinned to the front of his coat. "This is just not your day, is it doctor?" I muttered to the unconscious Dr. Masaryk. Then, I noticed something that jutted out of one of his lab coat pockets which might have made up for everything and then some. I removed it gingerly from its disturbed resting place and twirled it around a few times.

"This is just not your day."

* * *

R&R

LOTS

Thanks to RegalAngel18 for his usual Mad Beta Skillz.


	8. The Right of Way can Never be for You

The Leopard's Apprentice

By

Lady of the Shire

* * *

Chapter 7

The Right of Way Can Never be for You

* * *

_DISCLAIMER: MegaMan NT Warrior and all related entities are the property of ShoPro, Viz Media, Ryo Takamisaki, and related partners._

* * *

I marked this point in time with a regretful error on my part.

The gentleman that I had hoped would have provided the necessary information I so desperately needed was now lying unconscious on the ground. But, he was in a more comfortable position than prior, on his back with his hands atop of his stomach. Additionally, I verified multiple times that I had not killed him. I felt that the best way to repent for my crime was by at least placing him in a less peculiar resting position. As for myself, I found refuge against the bathroom door, positioned about two or three feet away from the man's head. My legs were folded in front of me, layering the framework for my hands to grip each knee, while my vertebrae was completely erect, supporting the back of my head against the grey door. I glared at my victim. But, such an expression had not been elicited for malicious purposes. I was in deep thought: The doctor that I would have inquired about my origins to this room was temporarily incapacitated. Furthermore, the documents that were in his possession at the time of his demise proved to be as informative as a Chinese restaurant menu: nothing but jargon. At most, I could decipher that a majority of my personal information had been left incomplete. There was no recollection of the manner in which I was admitted, aside from the date and time. But, that tidbit of information did not spark any fragmented memories. I was just as enlightened now as when I first woke up in this room….

That was comforting.

The true metaphorical icing on the cake was that the access card that I had on loan from the good doctor had provided me with _nothing_. All of the supply cabinets and drawers inside the room were equipped with electronic locks that required said card to be opened. I figured that this practice was to monitor inventory and restrict unauthorized access. Hence, I at least minimized the risk of being caught by using this gentleman's card, since it appeared that he would have had such privileges granted to him. But, those drawers held just mundane medical paraphernalia: bandages, disinfectant, water pitchers, and packaged syringes. This bothered me. I couldn't have entered the hospital wearing just the gown I was in now.

So, what happened to the clothes that I was wearing before?

I sighed, running a hand through my cyan locks. On impulse, I pulled at a follicle. I hadn't even looked in the mirror since I woke up. I've probably set the world record for worst bed head. Pushing that thought aside, it was frustrating to have virtually taken two steps forward and then have no choice but to retract them. Moreover, what would I do when this person wakes up? If I stay in the room (which I have no choice but to do since I can't walk around wearing _this_) he will eventually regain consciousness. I will probably have Hell to pay. But, in the unlikely event that I do escape and are free to roam around, once he awakens there will be a small delay between when he informs the necessary channels that I am missing and when I am subsequently retained.

I had reached another impasse.

Thus, I decided to view my situation with a more optimistic approach: I could find out more about what happened to me if I were to wait until the doctor regains consciousness; or I could finish what I had started if I leave. However, the former was still more feasible since I still can't leave without finding my _clothes_. I wasn't even going to fathom the idea of stealing the doctor's since it was completely obvious that there was no way in Hell I was going to borrow _certain _necessary articles and I wouldn't be able to fill his shoes even if I wanted to….

I let out a growl of frustration as I bent over in order to make an effort to get up. Fortunately, something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. That was when I remembered that I had scoured all but one place in the room: the haunted nightstand. I caught it still spying on me with those blaring "eyes". Quickly, I swooped down, grabbed the card at my feet, and dashed over there. I tore the curtains out of my way and noted the card reader. I shamefully admit that I was nervous; I could be getting my hopes up for nothing.

Hesitantly, I peeked in the drawer.

I felt like an idiot for not noting this little treasure chest as my first target to raid. I dropped the card atop the nightstand and drew out the contents from the top drawer. My entire uniform had been packed and stored neatly away with footwear laid flat in the drawer below. This wasn't a surprise to me. There was a higher chance that I would have succumbed to whatever lead me to this room while I was in uniform that if I was in civilian attire. Either way, I was thankful since I had to endure this entire time with the knowledge that the medical staff had removed _**every**_ article of clothing. At that moment, I couldn't help but be thankful that I had regained consciousness when I did. Otherwise, I might have woken up to discover a catheter: a precaution for if I was going to be bedridden for a _long_ time. I first secured that necessary item before removing the infuriating hospital gown that had hugged to my frame through this entire ordeal. After, I feverously dressed.

Now we were getting somewhere.

The faster I get dressed, the faster I can tend to my "guest"! And do something about my hair…

* * *

Okay. Now I felt less awkward.

I carefully shut the door to the room behind me. Immediately afterward, I plastered myself against the wall to avoid a hit and run by three variations of gelatin and encased meals that whizzed by on a dietary cart. The hallway was still as crowded as before. I was thankful. That meant I had a smaller chance of anyone hearing the assault. My guest was now on the far side of the bed, blind to anyone who initially entered the room. He was rather snug in about three rolls of elastic cloth bandages.

I might have gone a bit overboard with stuffing one into his mouth and then wrapping it in place…

No matter. That was one problem that I didn't have to concern myself with for the time being. Another was how to move about undetected. I figured that if I was dressed in full uniform, there was a better chance that I would either be mistaken for one of the security officials for the hospital (which seemed plausible since two passed by oblivious) or a visiting serviceman. Therefore, I have nothing to fear. I began walking down the hallway against the regular flow of traffic. The primary reason for my prior hesitation was to assess my new environment and ensure that I had not become a target of suspicion. Second, locate a stairwell or elevator. I noted the latter and breezed by the nurse's station without any problem. Down the remainder of the hallway, past numerous patients, doctors, nurses, and custodians. To the elevator door. My eyes glanced over at the adjacent directory. Unfortunately, it displayed no specific names, just general vicinities. One caught my attention.

"Administration: First Floor," I mouthed. I pressed the down button and waited.

The doors opened almost immediately and revealed a large empty car. I entered without hesitation and selected the first floor. I was currently on the fifth floor. Thus, I had a bit of time to kill, depending on how popular this particular elevator was going to be. Sure enough, it stopped on the fourth floor, laying wake to a large group of about 15 people. I was forced into a back corner as the occupants were sandwiched in. Such close proximity to others left me unnerved. It was one thing to pass by but all I needed was one adjacent individual to cast a second glance. I needed to remain calm. There was no reason to begin broadcasting guilt. That would only perpetuate my fear. I had to remain confident in my plan—even if it was only contrived in the amount of time it took me to dress. Regardless, it was a start. _"There is no reason to get agitated at this point,"_ I reassured myself. _"I have gotten this far without any mishaps. I need to maintain a clear head."_

Great idea.

Easier said than done.

The uplifting atmosphere of the car was more morbid than that of a funeral! My eyes quickly darted about the inhabitants. I spied a few severe-looking nurses, dotted with what appeared to be anxious residency students, and a multitude of heads sporting various shades of silver, alongside those wherein lack of hair. Therefore, mostly doctors. The overwhelming aroma of caffeine and a cornucopia of supermarket-brand muffins and other mediocre sweet meats did nothing to appease neither the atmosphere nor my stomach. It had begun to protest a lack of sustenance since…whenever had been the last time I had eaten. An unsettling tremor crept through my cavity along with that dreadful rumble, reminiscent of distant thunder. How was I supposed to keep inconspicuous if my stomach was growling so loudly?! I did my best to maintain my gaze against the wall adjacent to me as the car continued onward with its freshly packaged cargo of sardined and disgruntled passengers. Such a quiet elevator ride only amplified the interjections of my stomach. I could only imagine how many annoyed glances I had elicited in my direction. It was going to be harder than I had hoped to avoid being noticed.

We continued downwards uninterrupted for one floor. At the next stop a large exodus of the passengers poured out. In the meantime, I moved away from the corner and reclined against the back of the car. However, one individual did not leave. I eyed the gentleman's stark white hair impassively; he belonged to the group of doctors. The man hovered around the passengers, allowing them to pass through, but remained near the entrance. I glanced at him a second time. Something about him reminded me of someone. I couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was. But, I knew that I had seen this person somewhere before. After a few seconds, he tapped the button to close the doors after noting that no new individuals had entered. Then, he waited patiently for the car to move, placing his hands behind his back.

I knew that gesture.

An alarm went off in my head. My eyes narrowed in concentration while I scoured through my memories. I still wasn't sure what it was trying to alert me to but I began to pay more attention to this person. But, I had to question for a moment whether or not my suspicions were just a side-effect of hunger. It was difficult to concentrate under such a state. I wanted to cast aside what I believed to be unnecessary paranoia and continue the remainder of the ride harboring only a disgruntled appetite. Was that too much to ask for? I had pushed my luck this far. If I was about to become a victim of dramatic irony, I would much rather it occur _after _I was done! Thus, I stood silently in the back of the car, trying my best to remain as tacit as possible. Better not to give the man a reason to turn around, at least. Fortunately, he wasn't in proximity to where my stomach would have betrayed me. My head met with the wall behind me as I slowly registered the elevator's ambiance. I didn't recognize the melody but I tried my best to concentrate on it rather than the buzzing that had intensified within my ears.

That paranoia was beginning to become _very_ irritating.

In contrast, the other passenger, who didn't seem to be plagued by _**any**_ misfortune whatsoever, quietly hummed along to the tune. I admit that I was envious. It must be nice concerned with only trivialities. Blame it on the hunger, but I actually missed being at work for a moment. It may be a pain in the neck being assigned the menial task of a bloodhound but at least I didn't have to worry about anything like _this_! I would much rather be in this gentleman's shoes right now. Suddenly, as if he had caught wind of my soliloquy, the man turned slightly. In reality he must have been verifying our destination on the elevator keypad. I caught a brief profile of his face. After, he returned his attention back to the elevator doors. He had yet to look behind him to see who else still inhabited the car.

If he had, I would have been dead.

"_Oh, shit!"_

It had been so obvious! Why hadn't I noticed it until now? That warning was that I had run out of GOOD FORTUNE! A freight train collided into me at that moment: I was an idiot! Had I the audacity to think that I would have been able to reach this far with just wits? I couldn't even figure out what my next move was going to be most of the time! Now what?! I was completely screwed and there was no way that dumb luck was going to help me wriggle out of this situation. I had only one option at this point:

I stopped breathing.

Every inch of me froze. Even the smallest movement of my fingers. If I could have I would have stilled my thundering heartbeat. I wished that I could just blend into the wall where **he** would never see me. No matter how hard he looked! Those cacophonous questions of uncertainty erupted once more, threatening to overwhelm me. Nothing had changed! I was back in that secluded hospital room again!

"_No! Pull yourself together! Remain calm!"_

"_Remain calm."_

"_Remain calm."_

"_Remain calm."_

"_Remain calm."_

"_Remain calm."_

"_Remain calm!"_

"_**I NEEDED TO REMAIN CALM!"**_

I pushed away from the handrail that had begun to dig into my lower spine and teetered for a moment before standing fully erect. What was I going to do?! There was no way for me to remain aloof! It was impossible for me to escape! I was trapped again! My physical prison had diminished in size! Moreover, my mind had been ensnared into an even smaller confinement. I could feel the initiation of the 'fight or flight' sequence throughout my body. Logic and instinct struggled for domination! But, the victor was obvious. I only had one option in order to secure my victory. My survival!

One step forward.

Then another.

Some invisible force beyond my control ushered me forward, step by step. My resistance to the inevitable crumbled away with each passing moment.

What was I doing?

Why was I doing this?

What did I hope to gain?

The elevator suddenly felt so much bigger than prior. When had that happened? Another step forward. Why don't I feel as if I am getting any closer? Another step. All of my senses honed in on his every move. My ears perked to his faint hum to the ambiance. It appeared as if every follicle of his white scalp was distinguishable. My heart felt as if it was being crushed within my tightly clenched fist, pulsating rapidly. What was I doing?! Why was I doing this?! Another step. If I hadn't been so transfixed on this person, I would have noticed that I was treading on the balls of my feet. I was literally tiptoeing! WHAT did I hope to gain by doing this?! Then, my arms hovered ominously in front of me, hands poised to grip the unsuspecting victim by his shoulders. This was my only chance. The only thing I could do now was subdue him. I'll try to come up with a cover story of why there was an unconscious man lying on the floor of the elevator car. That would probably give me an opportunity to flee. At least before he came to and revealed the truth. Hopefully, by that time…I would have fulfilled my objective. Yes. That is all I can do right now, can't I?

I stopped.

I was far enough from him that I would not enter his zone of awareness but close enough as to strike. I realized something: such a plan would put me at a disadvantage. I could not afford for _anyone_ to notice me. It went without saying the risk of making a scene. No matter how badly I wanted to take advantage of this…opportunity that now stood in front of me. No matter how much I wanted to see my plan come to fruition. (No matter how much I wanted to forget this entire ordeal ever happened.) If I was going to counterattack I needed a more private location, not to risk unsuspecting onlookers. I had to wait. Just a little longer and I would be free. Just wait a bit longer. I just have to be patient. Just remain that, my arms fell to my sides. I straightened my posture. It was if all the anxiety pent up within me had dissipated into the surroundings. I sighed.

I regretted doing that immediately.

The gentle humming was interrupted by a small gasp of acknowledgement. He began to turn arou—

_**Ping**_.

Both of us turned our attention to the door.

It opened.

He walked out without even another glance behind him.

I barely noted a passerby say: "Good morning, Dr. Verstand."

Eventually the doors closed, leaving me alone….

* * *

"_I can't do this," _said the logic-induced segment of my conscious._ "I must be an idiot for thinking that I could actually pull this off!"_

It was right. It was absolutely right.

"I can't do this,"I whispered.

I can't even remember how the Hell I winded up in this godforsaken place. Probably something of _his _doing. How was I supposed to outwit him? If I fail, my life will be the least of my worries. I will NOT be granted a second chance. Also, I'm not the only one in jeopardy….

I messaged the bridge of my nose while leaning against the back wall of the car. _"I'm sorry. You are going to hate me for what I have done to you but…you must—." _

No. I won't apologize!

I promised myself that if I would not tolerate guilt.

If so, I'll begin to doubt myself.

This _**is**_ the best course of action.

I instructed the doors to open and stepped out.

"_But you are going to hate me."_

I immediately turned right.

"_If that is my punishment…"_

A steadfast pace down the closest hallway. I did not even glance at a directory I caught in my peripheral vision. My feet led me as if this was routine…even though I had never been to this hospital in my life. I was focused on what laid before me. A studious appearance. A steadfast gaze. As if I have nothing to hide. As if I wasn't about to lose my mind. Before I realized it, I had ventured into maze home to a myriad of doors: administration.

But, how would I know the way to my destination?

I continued, unfazed, and turned accordingly at each intersection. In the meantime, logic was in overdrive, deliberating on new revisions to my strategy. But, how does a pawn think for itself? No matter how much attentiveness I placed on the belief that I was in control, I could not help but feel as if I was being _led_ along by an invisible tether. My feet were not moving on my accord. My thoughts manipulated. My senses distorted. All of the ominous signs of paranoia were beginning to resurface. I scrambled to conjure a counterargument: What if my actions were based entirely on instinct? It seemed plausible. Extrasensory, so to speak. Another suggestion: What if I truly did know where I was going?

Or maybe I am just "lucky".

Lucky enough to have randomly found the door I had been looking for. Swallowing my negative thoughts, I summoned my trump card and allowed it to hover over the reader. I don't want to believe that I was **lucky** enough to get my hands on what's probably a master key. I don't want to swipe this damn thing, swing open this door and find the office to be—

Completely empty.

There were two offices to be precise. The door closed behind me with a small click while I noted the vacant secretary's station before me. The desktop, surprisingly barren, flaunted only a small bouquet positioned neatly at the center. But paranoia would not rest. Hesitantly, I peeked inside the main office. I was alone.

I took a deep breath and walked in.

"Okay."

All I needed was ten minutes.

Done.

"Now what?" I asked myself as I returned the large executive chair into its proper place. After, I walked to the threshold, hesitating for a moment as to whether I should shut off the lights.

"I can't afford to leave any signs…"

Back at the front desk, I scanned the area. Nothing appeared to be out of place.

Good.

I continued onward to the door. With my hand on the knob, I turned around to inspect the area one last time. For once, I was actually content. Not to the point that I would pat myself on the back, per se, but I felt just an ounce of tension leave me. But what do I do after this? Do I return to my prison? Or do I leave this place? How long would it take for me to be discovered missing? If I returned to work, I would certainly have much explaining to do.

Head bowed, I stared at the brass nob tightly clenched in my fist. When I walk through this door, I'll be free. I would have finished what I set out to do.

But is that enough?

Will that be the end to my endeavors?

So that's it right?

I can move on.

Through this door.

Only to be greeted by an astonished Aldrich Lawrence Verstand.

"Shit."

* * *

To be Continued…

* * *

R&R

LOTS


	9. Injection of Tranquility

The Leopard's Apprentice

By

Lady of the Shire

* * *

Chapter 8

Injection of Tranquility

* * *

_DISCLAIMER: MegaMan NT Warrior and all related entities are the property of ShoPro, Viz Media, Ryo Takamisaki, and related partners._

* * *

Carla did not like losing patients.

She had been working in this field for a _very _long time. Needless to say, there were good and bad days. Some days she felt that nothing would ever work out. Other days, she worried if some of these poor souls could recover and lead normal lives in peace. Nonetheless, she always tried her best!

It also helped that she was somewhat of a totalitarian.

Just a bit…

The woman's domineering personality compensated for her short, stout stature. Her gait was always that of someone with an agenda, always on a mission running down co-workers and superiors alike (especially one gentleman whose name will not be disclosed at this time). To her, the hospital was one unit comprised of many symbiotic elements. Hence, one alienated piece could mean disaster for the rest, including the possibility of her early weekend. Carla planted her hands atop the counter of the nurses' station, eyes clamped in concentration. "I dragged myself out of bed this morning before sunrise and willed my way to work….Just so I could leave an hour or so early today." She shot a glare at the wall clock before her. "Half of my day lost to this…NONSENSE!" One of the nurses looked up from a station computer. "Carla, what are we going to do?" she whined. "This is the first time I'm dealing with something like this," another said. A third stern-looking nurse folded her arms tightly. "Should we call security?" Carla slammed her fist into the cream-colored countertop most likely leaving a permanent indent. The others flinched. "And tell them what?! That there is a mentally unstable patient running around the hospital!?" she snapped. "If we call security the entire place is going to be put on lockdown! That means NOTHING will get done today!" Resuming her previous position, she rocked from side to side on the balls of her feet. "I'm not going to let one _yahoo_ keep the rest of this floor _and _this facility from doing their jobs." Carla turned to the nurse at the computer. "Becky, call the front desk and ask them to put out a note to the custodians to be on the lookout for any suspicious activity. The fact that we haven't heard any alarms over the intercom means that this idiot hasn't done anything to wreak havoc…yet. We don't want to do anything that will elicit him to do otherwise."

She paused. "In the meantime—"

"Carla, please take care of this for me."

**God!** There it was! The one thing that could send the woman through the roof faster than this predicament 100 times over! She leaned over the counter, clinging to the last remnants of her composure. That voice. How many times did she almost contemplate strangli—

"Aldrich," she muttered.

Suddenly, the most nervous of the three nurses gaped in horror. "W-WHAT?! What happened?!" the woman exclaimed. Carla shot up. She noted her co-worker. Then, she twisted around. Behind her was the (infamous) doctor, carrying a nonchalant expression…and an unconscious person draped over his back…like a rolled up hoary rug ready to be thrown into the nearest dumpster.

Becky dropped the receiver and leapt to her feet. "Is this the patient that we're looking for?!"

Verstand squinted. "Huh?" Then, he glanced at his cargo. "Oh! Nothing much. And, I would assume so." Aldrich adjusted the deadweight draped across his shoulders. "You can call off the manhunt." The doctor quickly added: "Have you seen Jan by any chance? He was supposed to meet with me fifteen minutes ago."

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM VERSTAND!?" Carla roared.

That one statement brought the officer to attention. He slowly backed away from the enraged woman. "I didn't touch him!" he cried.

Becky scowled. "More importantly, why the HELL is he in uniform?!"

In contrast to his reaction with Carla, the doctor stood erect and sniffed. "I found him just like that, lying unconscious—"

All the women charged at him in unison. **"BULLSHIT!"**

"I did!" The doctor whined, doing his best to cower with his precious cargo.

Carla took the lead and stormed towards him until there weren't even 5 inches between them. "Don't forget _their _role in the hospital," pointing at the fuming pack of ravenous wolves looming behind her. "Maria, go get a stretcher," she said the severe looking nurse. "You don't need to concern yourself with such things," she growled as she stormed away.

Verstand tried his best not to tremble.

He had known Carla for a very long time. Even now, she still roused the same shivers down his spine. Furthermore, his own (harsh) experiences with women (i.e. his wife) made him well aware of the consequences if she was further enraged at this point. It was funny actually. He could remember vividly how Carla had been constantly on his case from the moment he set foot through the hospital entrance. _"All that tripe they teached you in school is only a fraction of what you need before you can place that title at the end of your name. And I damn well ain't going to let you screw it up here!" _he reminisced. Despite their disagreements and **very** verbal confrontations, Verstand still acknowledged her as a mentor of sorts. He just wished that she would execute her role in a more…subtle fashion at times.

Aldrich struggled to maintain his cordial tone. In the meantime, Carla and Becky quickly approached to relieve him of his burden. "Back to my previous inquiry—"

Carla waved a hand to cut him off. "Oh! Yes, yes." She was preoccupied with arranging the patient on a stretcher. "He's still lying down in the break room." Then, the woman spun around sporting a ferocious glare. "You want to know where we found him?!" Throwing her hands in the air, she said: "That damned idiot was on the other side of _this_ patient's bed passed out. Bound and gagged! What kind of dumbass—"

For a moment, Verstand looked more intrigued than disturbed by hearing such news. "Now, Carla…."

"That moron is in _there_!" Her free hand shot out towards the break room.

Without another word, Verstand left. Behind him, he could hear Carla grumble about between him and Jan, who was more of a hassle on a daily basis. He approached the entrance, knocking before peering inside. As promised, Dr. Masaryk was there, sprawled across the small leather couch. His feet dangled over the edge while an arm shielded his eyes. Verstand smirked. He was half-tempted to wake Jan. But, he couldn't help but want to laugh. It appeared as if his colleague was recovering from a relentless hangover! Even more humorous was the fact that the couch appeared too small to accommodate one of such tall stature. His limbs sprawled over its edges like an overstuffed bowl of spaghetti and how his neck craned over the plush black armrest would warrant sores the next day. "You know, if you fall asleep you might slip into a coma," Verstand chimed. Unfortunately, that statement was enough to startle the dazed man. He slipped out of the couch and collided onto the linoleum tiled floor face first. Thankfully, the number of rather harsh curses that followed were muted. Then, Jan came up for air. "There are more subtle methods for waking someone up!"

After, he realized…

"Oh! Dr. V-Verstand! I…I apolog—."

"**JAN!**" Verstand's expression was scathing. "How many times have I asked you _not _to be so formal?!" Then, he stepped forward. "Calling me by my first name would suffice," he smiled.

Jan clamored back into the couch. "I'm not the veteran here."

In the meantime, Verstand strode over and handed him his glasses from the coffee table. "Neither am I. I'm just the annoying bastard everyone listens to," he said. The senior doctor gestured at the door. "Didn't you hear Carla?!"

"Yes." The blond adjusted the spectacles on his face. "She's rather early today, isn't she?"

However, instead of a witty reply, his boss' expression became one of concern. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. I'm fine." Masaryk waved a dismissive hand. His boss nodded and glided over to the couch, hoping to rest his feet. But, just as Verstand perched near the arm rest, a growl of frustration ripped out of the blond's throat! The doctor leapt out of his seat with a surprising amount of vigor. He took two steps back and eyed his subordinate cautiously.

Jan tore at his hair. "How embarrassing!" he cried bowed over.

Recovered, Verstand placed his hands behind his back.

"One minute, I'm examining my clipboard and the next—" Jan threw his hands in the air, exasperated.

The officer shrugged his shoulders. "It happens."

The blond slowly looked up, gaping at his boss as if he had just kicked a puppy. "Excuse me?! Dr. Ver….Aldrich, may I remind you that assault and battery is a CRIME! I could have been—"

Verstand raised an inquisitive finger. "This tale does have a bit of a happy ending."

Jan looked confused. "What do you mean?" He read his superior's features closer, noting a small grin. Suddenly, it hit him. "You found him?!" The younger man was instinctively perched at the edge of his seat, a tight grip on the couch cushions underneath him.

The officer narrowed his eyes. "I think the better question is whether you are willing to continue."

Jan mirrored the expression, perplexed. "Continue doing wh—"

"There is a reason why _that_ patient was admitted here."

For a moment, the younger man was frozen. Then, his eyes widened with fear as his lower jaw dropped. "You can't be…"

"Now, Jan. He is still our patient—"

Masaryk shot up, gawking at his superior from behind. "You. Can't. Be. Serious."

"—and this only proves that he is in need—"

A menacing finger. "There is no way…"

Verstand fell silent and strode over to the large window at the opposite end of the room, as if signaling an end to the conversation. Below he watched individuals coming and going from the hospital parking lot most of which were in uniform. Some were wheelchair bound, while others were on crutches. Nurses and even some physician assistants acted as escorts. In contrast, others appeared to have no physical ailments but walked slowly towards the main entrance. A few exited from the building alone or in groups, looking forward to being transported home or another routine visit within the next few weeks. Verstand frowned. It had been a long time since he had recognized an old, friendly face amongst the crowds.

Being able to simply sit and chat about trivial matters.

Wishing each other happy holidays.

Small get-togethers.

A simple nostalgic laugh.

Someone to confide his fears about his next assignment.

How he wished he could just stop everything around him.

That the broken bodies brought before him would….

Such a long time….

"_How many years had it been?"_

Each succumbed to their own fate.

So many times when he felt…powerless, unable to save—

"Dr. Verstand, with all due respect—" Jan finally struck up the nerve to speak, interrupting the officer's thoughts. His tone was abrasive.

Verstand sighed. "Again with the formalities..."

"—I don't think that I am suitable—"

"You don't get to **choose** who you want to SAVE Dr. Masaryk!" Aldrich boomed. The room fell silent. Ambiance from the entrance below barely percolated through to compensate. The officer's hands shook. _"No one has that privilege. No one. No matter how many times you guarantee to yourself that you will never let it happen again…."_

You can't breathe life back into petrified lungs.

You can't warm a frail frigid hand, no matter how desperately you clamp it between your own.

You can no longer feed blood to a heart that has been crushed.

Their eyes.

You peer through those windows into an empty space that once housed a soul.

Pale and ashen, there is no beauty in a shredded corpse….

Verstand shook his head slowly. "You don't have that privilege."

Jan remained silent as he returned to his seat.

The older man turned away from the window. Suddenly, the room felt devoid of any feeling. Whitewashed walls complemented the bleakness of the floor beneath his feet, which was clean enough to reflect his own haunting image. He backtracked to where Jan sat until he towered over his subordinate. "You _will _be in charge of this person. This is what we call 'experience'."

"I understand that," the blond said, head bowed. Once again, he felt as if he was being scolded like a child. Just like how she used to…

"I just meant that…I don't think I'm qualified enough to deal with such a case independently," he added.

Verstand finally deflated. "I know. I know." A hand swept across his weary expression, scratching his white beard. "No one said this job was easy."

With that, he continued towards the door.

But, Jan continued: "You know. It's funny."

The old man paused at the door.

"That quality you have: to bring down a person so quickly. It's always left me in awe. Take right now for instance. A few moment's ago, you spoke to me as if we were equals. Then, in just one statement I felt browbeaten like a child." Jan looked up. "You really do bring out the worst in a person. It's almost as if you give off something…that corrupts people," he muttered. Verstand turned around, noting an unfamiliar face, almost comparable in age. He held a hunched posture, arms draped in his lap, and a frown chiseled into his stone face. His eyes were obscured due to the glare off his glasses.

This person could not be Jan.

"You of all people should know that isn't the first time someone has said that to me."

Then, Verstand was gone.

* * *

The doctor flew out of the break room, maneuvering around obstacles that came across his path as he stormed towards the elevator, steely-eyed. He didn't even note Carla's loquacious comment as he passed the nurses still tending to their recovered patient. His ears deafened the countless conversations that saturated the air of the busy floor. At that moment, only one voice from a long time ago boomed within his head.

All these years later and those same words still stung:

"_You uncouth swine!"_

Without realizing it, the officer punched the down button. Though his shoulders were relaxed and arms hung loosely at his sides, his hands were bunched into tight fists.

"_You manipulate the lives around you as if they are expendable playthings!" _

He grimaced. "Damn it all…"

The doctor stepped into the car and selected the first floor. Once inside and alone with his thoughts, he brought a hand to his forehead. "_History truly does repeat itself, doesn't it?" _he internally sighed. "_First, that belligerent woman. Then, to make matters worse some of her personality seems to have rubbed off on Jan. Finally, that young man…"_

A repetitive ping alerted him to his destination. He stepped out of the elevator before a wake of passengers boarding and continued through the crowded lobby towards his office.

"_You corrupt people!"_

Thank God for the mundane silence in this area. It was his oasis. Tucked away from that Hellish world outside his door.

His sanctuary.

His shelter.

His Eden.

But, to his dismay, that peace was shattered by a most dubious being…

* * *

_Verstand immediately charged through the small passage and lashed out at the young man's collar. However, he was almost too late to evade a left hook. Luckily, his reflexes had yet to leave him in his old age. Instinctively, a foot hooked around one of the intruder's. Losing his balance, Raika lunged towards the starch white lapels of the doctor's coat. He wasn't planning on going down alone. But, his plan immediately backfired when Verstand planted a hand on his chest. The impact of the force was enough to misplace Raika's center of gravity as he stumbled away from the door until his lower back collided into the barren desk. As if in shock, the vase leapt responsively and teetered before toppling over. Water split over the edges onto the plush beige carpet below. The young man yelped from the pain that ravaged through his spine on impact. Nonetheless, he attempted to regain his balance. Little did he realize that Verstand's hand had taken root and its counterpart took refuge firmly on the young soldier's forehead. Raika resisted as best as he could before his head quickly collided with the desktop, sporting a ruined bouquet over its surface. Slightly dazed from the impact, he wriggled in resistance but to no avail. Verstand had positioned himself adjacent to his captive, granting easier reach to the young man's forehead. He towered over Raika. _

_The doctor glanced at the toppled vase and then back at the intruder, breathing heavily. _

_Verstand glared at him. _

_Then, he took a deep breath to calm his nerves. The rage that had etched itself into his face slowly scumbled. But, his eyes still smoldered. "My secretary's birthday was today," he said. "She took the day off. I wanted to surprise her. So, I had them delivered to the office. I waited here until the front desk called for me to sign for them. Then, on a whim I decided to return something I had borrowed upstairs. Finally, I return to find what lurking about?!"_

_Verstand rushed forward until his face loomed a mere inches from the intruder's. "A RAT!" he snarled. _

"_I knew that I had forgotten something else upstairs but I just couldn't put my finger on it! A bane that has been nipping at my heels for God knows how long. How the HELL—" the doctor intensified his grip about Raika's head "—did you scurry your way in HERE!?" Raika's hands suddenly clamped onto the arm anchored onto his head. He remained silent, mirroring just as belligerent of an expression as his captor, despite the remnant waves of pain that erupted from his head and vertebrae. "A silent pestilence, eh?" the doctor sneered. "Then perhaps the best solution is—"_

"_I'm not saying ANYTHING!" Raika gritted through his teeth. "I'm not going to beg or plead!"_

_Verstand's eyes widened, taken back. _

"_What were their last words before you put them out their misery, eh?! Were they so fucked up from your __**game**__ that they couldn't even recognize themselves anymore?! Did you rob away that from them too? Their desire to live?! Did you dispose of them QUIC__—_?"

* * *

**SLAM!**

Verstand closed his office door with more force than he realized—enough to startle him out of his recollection.

He brought a hand to his face and shook his head slowly. "God…what got over me?" he said mournfully.

Then, he eyed his secretary's desk, flowers still skewed about on its surface and on the floor, some trampled in the struggle. The officer frowned. He slowly shuffled over to salvage the survivors. "I should go get water for them." With that, he lifted the object gingerly off the desk and made his way over to the door. With a weary grip on the cold knob he thought: "_I shouldn't have laid a hand on him." _

He then flung open the door.

"I don't need to in order to break him."

* * *

**Part 1 End**


	10. How to Play the Most Dangerous Game

The Leopard's Apprentice

By

Lady of the Shire

* * *

Chapter 9

How to Play the Most Dangerous Game

* * *

_DISCLAIMER: MegaMan NT Warrior and all related entities are the property of ShoPro, Viz Media, Ryo Takamisaki, and related partners._

* * *

A/N: I am not dead. Graduate School. Enough said.

(That rhymes!)

* * *

It was cold.

Ambiance about the area had come to a standstill, only to be occasionally stirred by a small breeze that slipped through the remnants of the trees housed on the ledge. The stench of spent wood had begun to slowly dissipate but was still potent. Those that had survived the initial blast were unable to evade the onslaught of makeshift scalpels, forged from the bark of their less fortunate counterparts. Fragments penetrated deep into most of the evergreens, while others suffered only minor scrapes and punctures to their already rough texture. Another breeze passed through. With it, one particular branch that had found itself lodged high within a surviving tree swayed in accordance. When the wind finally past, the object was peculiarly positioned. Slowly, the branch leaned further over the edge. Suddenly, a large gust blew through. From the canopy, the broken branch tumbled, spinning and bouncing to and fro like a drum major's baton.

Finally, its decent came to an end on a large pile of snow at the bottom of the cliff.

Another wind threatened to spirit it away. But, just as it seemed that the branch would comply, a hand shot out of the mound! As if out of fright, the object flew off its resting place and plopped onto the ground with a soft thud. As for the hand, it thrashed about wildly, as if trying to find some sort of latch. Eventually, it seemed to give up, slipping back inside. The mound remained still, only a few flakes disturbed. However, the pile soon began shifting about, as if stirred from a long restful sleep. It wriggled back and forth, disturbing additional loose granules. Eventually, the shifting became a violent thrashing. The center of the mound collapsed, granting entrance to the same hand and now its respective arm. One firm grip on the soft, unstable rim of the opening caused the remainder to give way. A person fell out of the makeshift prison and into the snow face first. The remnants of the mound followed suit, submerging his legs. He remained motionless for some time, long enough for the breeze to brazenly toss about a few silver strands that nearly camouflaged with the ground. Then, two hands lunged forward, embedding themselves in the snow like how a mountain climber latches on to the rocky cliff face. Fingers dug deep into the white earth until they began to feel numb to the mushy, frigid substance. They pulled deadweight forward only less than a few inches or so. Fortunately, it was enough to alert the owner's legs that it was time to assist.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Knees pushed forward against the ground, leaving rounded depressions in their wake. The legs slowly freed themselves. Then, the arms resumed. This awkward rendition of crawling continued for some time. Destination? Unknown. But, the limbs appeared to gravitate towards the branch that lay nearby. Unfortunately, they ceased less than a finger's brush away. The owner, still face first in the ground, tried to muster the last of his strength to reach out and—

"ProtoMan what are you doing?" asked a voice from behind him.

The hand froze.

A muffled response.

MegaMan walked over to the body lying in the snow.

The Navi had long since dug his way out of the mountain of debris and snow that elicited more irritancy out of the program than fear of being crushed. The frozen water did nothing more than numb his fingers and weigh down his already heavy garments. He shook his hands to remove any excess. A panoramic view of the area had signaled nothing but destruction from the blast. It was amazing that anything still remained erect. Luckily they had been in a clearing, so the number of hazardous projectiles fashioned from trees was limited. The azure Navi narrowed his eyes in light of this fact. He hoped that whatever benevolent force had spared the others, who were nowhere to be seen…save one. A shuffling noise from behind had grabbed his attention. He spun around and rushed over to the base of the cliff behind him, noting his companion moving about at literally a snail's pace….

Now adjacent to the other being, he dropped cross-legged onto the ground. The blue program summoned the edge of a palm to the side of his face and leaned in. "Can't hear you."

The swordsman's face surfaced. "One strike." He waved the stick around. "Will that knock an imbecile into submission?" he muttered.

The azure Navi folded his arms while he mused over that question. "Branches won't work. They'll just shatter. We could try a boulder."

ProtoMan grimaced. "Too messy."

MegaMan scratched his chin. "True…he is **supposed** to be returned in one piece."

"Difficult to do for one who is neither of sound mind or body!" the other growled.

"Well, technically he only needs to be able to function," the cross-legged being answered shrugging his shoulders.

A sigh. "So…assault is out of the question, eh?" ProtoMan released the branch.

MegaMan grabbed the object and threw it aside. "Yep."

"How did I not see this coming?" The swordsman's face re-submerged.

The blue Navi confidently nodded. "I'm asking myself the same question." Then, he eyed his partner critically. "How did **you** not see this coming?"

Suddenly, ProtoMan bunched is fists and slammed them into the snow! His head sprang up. "Why weren't you keeping an eye on him!?" A startled pair of green eyes shot back. "I was walking over to him to do just that! I didn't even get a chance!" However, the swordsman was not convinced. He let out a growl of frustration. "Now we have to go through all of this crap again! The only reason we found him in the first place was because he being a damn tease!" MegaMan scratched the back of his neck. "And to make matters worse, we've lost all communication" he added.

Silence.

"Oh! Just perfect! Worst case scenario," the crimson Navi huffed, flinging his hands into the air. He buried his face once more. "Fine print in the job description." His colleague cast a very disapproving gaze. "Is that what you call them?" Then, he heaved a sigh, craning his neck as far as possible, until his eyes were transfixed on the heavens. "Listen. The day I get used to being driven into a corner is the day I get used to getting blown up," the smaller program grimly countered. "Speaking of which…."

In the meantime, ProtoMan had moved into a more comfortable crouching position, hovering on the balls of his feet. "Fortunately, he can't get far."

It had not taken long for the flood of events prior to the blast to nearly drown the weary MegaMan. Life-threatening encounters, complete with wanton explosions, did not equate to a good start. He was already tired. So, the loss of their lifeline was the most wonderful news. Home would not be in sight for most likely a very long time. That means that they were stuck. Stuck!

"Yeah. Good job," MegaMan muttered, downtrodden. He had meant to place a bit more gratitude into that statement. Honest. Though, ProtoMan's tone suggested otherwise. "Thanks. You know how much I enjoy eviscerating people." There it was: damning evidence that their tolerance for one another was about to expire. It was obvious. And it was already too late. "I know that you are well aware that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit." A little too much emphasis at the end. "I wouldn't have resorted skewering him of some people knew how to restrain someone!" the older program spat as he mimicked the same sitting position, folding his arms even tighter. "I wouldn't have been in that situation if I had gotten HELP!" MegaMan yelled.

ProtoMan silently turned away.

End of discussion. "Fine! Whatever!" MegaMan threw his hands up in frustration. "I see what you're saying: 'I'm going to be the bigger man about this and end the argument right here.' That's it isn't it?!" He leapt up from his seat and brushed stray flakes of snow off his shoulders. "Isn't there something else we need to be concerned about at this moment?"

ProtoMan allowed one arm to slip out of its fold. He pointed. "Behind you." His partner turned around just in time to greet the escort leader. MegaMan let out a cry of alarm as the soldier began to collapse upon him. Instinctively, a palm firmly planted against his broad chest plate, guiding the weary being towards the ground. The escort leader nodded as a sign of gratitude while slowly crossed his legs underneath him, taking on similar seating posture as the swordsman.

MegaMan kneeled down adjacent to the guide. "Are you going to be okay, um—"

"Just call me Seven," the program snapped with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Please!" He sharply summoned a palm to silence the Navi. "I get sick of hearing that string of numeric nonsense from Maintenance every time."

The smaller program retreated a bit and nodded. "Oh. Okay."

Seven continued testily. "I'm fine. Just need a bit of time to…rest."

But, then MegaMan's expression grew dark. "So…where are the…others?"

Seven flinched, his shoulders tense. "Don't know."

"What?!" A critical pair of green eyes loomed over him. "How can you not know where your own team members are?!"

Seven shook his head out of apathy. "You tell me." MegaMan, exasperated, threw his hands into the air as he turned away. The escort shook his head. "Probably has something to do with this damned place," he muttered more to himself. "I can't get a lock on any of them."

MegaMan reaffirmed his stance, folding his arms and leering at the seated program out of the corner of his eye. "So much for being useful," he muttered.

That does it.

Seven's hands balled into two large, turbulent fists. "It's bad enough when I browbeat myself for being a coward." He stood. "But someone else has the nerve to judge me?!" The escort stumbled towards MegaMan. "You have…no idea." The blue Navi turned around. "What?!" he snapped. Seven nearly stumbled once or twice as he made his way slowly over to his target. "No idea." One pointer loomed in midair. "You. You have the nerve to judge. As if you are any more qualified to…superior…"

MegaMan squared his shoulders. "At least I didn't just stand there and do NOTHING!"

The sentinel directed all of his reserved strength into his one tightly bunched fist, pulled back with all his might, and prepared to slug the Navi's face...

"Any luck with communications?" ProtoMan asked.

Seven, frozen in mid-swing. Slowly, he turned his head to address the other member. MegaMan's eyes followed to the same point, while the remainder of him remained unfazed from the anticipated blow, arms still folded and back straight. Eventually, the escort led out a long, weary sigh. His anger had deflated when he was reunited with reality. But that didn't stop him from replying with a vindictive tone. "None," the sentinel said. "But, I don't think it was because of the explosion. Otherwise I wouldn't be able to hear at all." After a moment, he added: "And since our connection to the operators was severed, we don't have any way of signaling when we are ready to leave." ProtoMan slowly shook his head, turning just enough to eye the pair behind him his shoulder. "The problem won't be finding him." His slight profile revealed a grim frown. "I've seen to that." Slowly, he turned away, resuming his gaze into the distance. "It will be detaining him."

MegaMan narrowed his eyes. "What makes you say that?"

Seven's entire demeanor turned grim. "Because cornered game is much more dangerous when wounded."

* * *

SearchMan winced from being pricked by the uneven, sharp stones that peeked out of the snow. To make matters worse, each time his injured hand made contact with the frosty earth, the excruciating pain resurfaced as some cold matter would wedge itself into the deep cuts, hindering self-repair. Not that it would do much. The program was only designed for minor injuries. Such extensive damage required immediate care, especially that of his abdomen. The sniper tried continuing onward on only three limbs. But it wasn't long before he collapsed face-first into the ground. Not a problem, he thought. This was his time to rest. Just an opportunity to contemplate his next move. He just needed a breather. He was fine. Just fine.

But he couldn't stand upright.

Every time he had attempted to do so, he collapsed. So paralyzed and disoriented that his systems threatened to revert to emergency stand-by a few times. Furthermore, his body refused to listen to his order to move forward. Nothing more than feverish tremors raked his frame. To make matters worse, he was barely able to pry out even croak, as if his voice had fled out fear of him tumbling into oblivion. Carefully, he peeled his upper body from the ground and rested on his elbows. The lower half took longer to recover, given the injury. One leg at a time until he could crawl once more. The entire process was antagonizing, to say the least. Around 15-20 minutes if he had to make an estimate. Of course it would be stupid to make multiple attempts.

After the fifth time he gave up.

It was counterintuitive. He was lingering too long in one place. Much too long. He needed to keep going. He had to keep moving. Keep moving. Keep going forward. Stop focusing so much on the damage. Ignore the pain. Just get up and walk as if nothing happened. It's not that difficult. Just go! Get up! Now! You're not trying hard enough! That is why you keep failing. They could be on your heels any second and you would just be scuttling away like an insect about to be crushed. Do you want to be found? No? Then try again! Crawling isn't going to get you where you need to go. Just get up. Get up! They will find you at this rate. They'll stalk you. They'll corner you. They'll tear you limb from limb. You'll be nothing but a meal for them! You have to move. You're not moving fast enough! You coward. You're afraid to stand. Letting a little discomfort get the best of you. Pathetic! Hurry up! Move! Why are you stopping again? You can't afford to waste any time! You have to keep going! How could you do this? How could you act like this? Useless. You can't help anyone! You can't SAVE anyone. Why would anyone need you? Can't even protect yourself, much less others. Why would anyone even want your help anyway? They can already tell that you're hopeless. Weak, stupid beast. Failure. Get up. Get up. Get up! GET UP!

"**SHUT UP!" **

SearchMan's roar towards the heavens was addressed towards his rotten conscience. He hated it. That small whisper. Constantly ridiculing him. He remembered when it first resurfaced: the first time he ever heard that man's name. From that point forward it persisted: during the reassignment, the constant hounding his Operator had to endure from his new boss' pursuers, stalking to pinpoint the doctor's haphazard whereabouts. The worst times were during those awkward conversations questioning the gentleman's veracity. They always ended in failure. He could never bring himself to be frank. Always dancing around what his mind bellowed at him to tell Raika. That something was wrong. At that time and even now, he still couldn't say what exactly was amiss. But, he knew. To be honest, he didn't really care what it could be. He just wanted to make sure that it was noted. The sniper wanted to make sure that he knew the only means of preparation for the inevitable was anticipation. It was the one obligation SearchMan had left unfulfilled. It clouded him in dread. He should have just said it. Just scream it out if that's what it took. Then maybe he wouldn't be in this mess. Perhaps he might be able to look back and laugh at it all. That's right. It could make for a good joke at the end. And he could thank all of this on Major General Aldrich Verstand….

No.

No matter how long he lived, the very thought would leave him seeing red. How very much he wished he could simply close one hand calmly around his throat and just….

"Ugh," SearchMan shook his head mournfully. He tightened his grip about a feeble sapling as he took a step forward.

Wait.

The sniper looked down. Two firmly planted feet greeted him. He was standing. He turned his attention to said sapling. Lengthy digits (of his good hand) were wrapped firmly about the tree's slender waist, as if he planned to uproot it out of the ground at any moment. He summoned the other hand to his face. Sure enough, those same gaping wedges stared back at him. It was useless. He wasn't even sure if he could use it to stabilize his weapon while firing. Great. But, as of right now, that was the least of his problems. The most important discovery was that only probably through sheer willpower he was walking again. But, he still couldn't move without some sort of crutch. He discovered that very quickly when he let go of the unfortunate tree. The intensity of his grip was permanently imprinted into the plant's bark. He tripped over his own feet and quickly closed the gap between him and a larger evergreen less than a few feet away. The sniper clung to the flaky bark as if he was desperately struggling to keep his head above water. Fingers dug deep, raking off various sizes of earthen colored chips. When he finally felt as if he had retained a firm grip (practically into naked bark) he erected his stance. Instinctively, a shoulder met with the tree as his good hand flew down to his punctured abdomen. He scanned the region.

Nothing in sight, much to his relief and dismay.

On one hand, he was in no immediate danger. However…

"I need to keep going. If I want it to stay that way," he wearily sighed.

* * *

To be continued…

* * *

R&R

LOTS


	11. Ethos

The Leopard's Apprentice

By

Lady of the Shire

* * *

Chapter 10

Ethos

* * *

_DISCLAIMER: MegaMan NT Warrior and all related entities are the property of ShoPro, Viz Media, Ryo Takamisaki, and related partners._

* * *

_Tick._

_Tock._

On went the small analog clock, peering down from the cream colored accent wall. Lan lay sprawled underneath, head gingerly cradled by the white down pillows. His arms were fully stretched to each corner of the neatly made bed as he stared intensely at the object. One week. The unmitigated chaos that erupted in that room after the brunette remembered to exhale. The explosion. The severed link…

"_Failure to reconnect." _

Thus began the unnerving hiatus. The first few minutes were unbearable. He remembered being entranced by the white noise that blanketed every monitor in the room, accompanied by the cacophony of orders and flustered replies that darted back and forth. It was too much. He had to get out of that place. Eventually, the minutes were harvested into hours. And soon optimism was replaced by skepticism as the number of reassurances accumulated just as high. Finally, when their purpose had long become stale, they were tossed aside. "Just in case," Lan parroted. Then, he folded his arms. "How long does it take? It's their necks on the line. A walking weapon isn't something that should just be allowed to waltz around." The boy stretched. "Wouldn't you say so, Chaud?" The brunette craned his neck just enough to peer at the figure that had been relentlessly absorbed with his computer the moment they had returned to the hotel room. Eventually, Lan had collapsed on the nearest bed after the second night, adrenaline no longer able to maintain his acute insomnia. But, he would have sworn under oath that cadence of keystrokes had not even ceased for even a millisecond. He couldn't recall the last time he had seen the other boy leave that desk. If Chaud had catered to any of his bodily needs, then it must have been when the brunette was unconscious. Still, whether he had given himself the opportunity to attain enough of these necessities was another story. Lan frowned. His gaze returned to the clock. For seven days he had been channeling all of his melancholy and scorn at the cursed object. But that was quickly followed by the desire to kick himself. Who gets pissed at a damn clock!? "This is such…" he grimaced. _"What the Hell are we supposed to do know? What am I supposed to do?" _No communication meant no diagnostics. Was MegaMan okay? What was the extent of his injuries? Was he in critical condition? _"What the Hell am I supposed to do?!"_ So ridiculous! He sat up, folding his legs underneath him before casting another glance in the direction of his partner. "What the Hell are you supposed to be doing anyway?!" he snapped, only to grimace when he realized the he had meant to say that internally. But Lan was met with no response. An eye roll and exasperated sigh accompanied the brunette as he collapsed face-first at the foot of the bed. "Not like you made the situation any better," he grumbled, no longer conscious of his word choice. "Had to put together that stupid patch. Freakin' thing is only useful for less than a few minutes." Lan shot up. "Then what?! Eh?" He squared his shoulders. "Trigger happy havoc all over again and now **they're** stuck with no means of defending themselves! If ProtoMan had actually lent a hand earlier—as _some _were requesting that he do—maybe we wouldn't have had to—" Incoherent mumbling caught Lan's attention. "What?" he snapped.

"I should have seen this coming." The other boy repeated he finally broke eye contact with his monitor, gazing at the view through the sliding glass doors. Then, he threw his hands in the air out of frustration. "Of course!" He shot up. "**He** would pull something at the last minute! Probably busted out that damn grenade seconds before the patch rendered him useless. Now he's gone. We have not a clue whether he successfully obliterated everyone else nearby in the process. And **they**don't seem to give a damn!" Chaud gestured to the view outside. He tightly folded his arms. Lan narrowed his eyes. "You must be a victim of selective hearing to not have any sort of response for what I just said!" The other boy scoffed. "Oh, I heard you. I have just reached a point where I filter out about 99% of nonsense from that garbage disposal you call a mouth." The brunette furrowed his brow. He could never understand how Chaud had concocted his own unique and fatal blend of loquacious wit. Fortunately, the boy was close to assembling an antidote. "Says the bastard that is 13 going on 90. Has the doctor diagnosed you with incontinence yet, old man?" A snort. "Oh, yes. This coming from the one with the attention span of a shoe and the etiquette of a gorilla. From what I remember, someone literally dragged you out of the room kicking and screaming!" Lan shot up. "Like you were any better! If you were any paler, I would have had to check your pulse!" Mere centimeters from Chaud's face, the brunette added. "Oh, and by the way. Putting on the façade that everything is okay in that state isn't very CONVINCING!" The other boy scowled, breathing deeply. "Well if I took a page out of your playbook we would have been on the next flight HOME!"

He spun around and plopped back into his seat.

The feverous cadence of key strokes resumed.

Such riled up frustrations were difficult for Lan to dissipate quickly. Anymore and steam would whistle out of his ears. He jumped up. A glare bore into Chaud's back, focused on the brandished black-and-white emblem. The brunette clenched and unclenched his fists over and over. Feet spread apart and shoulders square, he was still in combat mode. Just waiting for that one last word to throw him over the edge—

"I'm not going to fight you."

Lan deflated in an instant, deadpanned.

"Bad enough that the military is covering our lodging. Heaven forbid we tack on a bill for property damage," Chaud muttered, while apparently absorbed in his typing. "Aside from the fact that you seem to enjoy solving your problems with your fists." Silence followed. The young man paused for a moment, in anticipation of dodging a smack across the back of his head.

None came.

Just an exasperated sigh. Stomping. And the thunderous slam of the door.

For a few moments afterwards, Chaud continued his work, apparently unfazed. Suddenly, his hands paused over the keys. Then, they fell into his lap. He shook his head. "And your unhealthy sense of optimism."

* * *

"_Damn. I'll admit, I have had better days than this," Mensch muttered under his breath while he closed the door to the control room behind him. "I must apologize for this Mr. Blaze." But Mensch only received silence from the boy standing with his back to him. The officer slightly shook his head before approaching. "Anything I say at this point is—"_

"_No time to muse on that Major General." Chaud turned around. Impassive. "What is our next move?"_

_The officer eyed him for a moment. Given the situation, a mind fueled by mostly logic was necessary. Mensch knew that. But that still didn't stamper his quickened heartbeat due to the turn of events. This was bad. This was the worst case scenario that he feared being held accountable for. Nonetheless, such a liability to the situation expanded to that of the…guests. They are now immersed in this mess. No amount of denial would change that. So the straight-laced character before him undeniably was putting on a poor show. Though, his façade was almost believable. Almost. But, that blanched expression on the child's face obliterated any validity to such. The man did his best to ignore that fact as he adjusted his spectacles. "We will continue attempting to make a __re-connection__. Obviously, your presence is necessary if we are successful but…." His vision shifted hesitantly towards the exit. _

_A sigh. "No." _

_Mensch's attention darted back to the young man. _

"_I should be the one apologizing…for my associate's…unruly behavior."_

_The gentleman cleared his throat. "Yes…well—"_

"_Nonetheless, we do not both need to be in attendance."_

_A slightly furrowed brow was the officer's initial response. Then, he nodded. "I understand."_

_Mensch's hands folded behind his back. "Then, we will be sure to continue to request your cooperation on this matter. Hopefully, your programs are resilient enough to withstand their adversary. But rest assured the escorts assigned with them are capable of such." Chaud nodded. "They should be fine. Otherwise, their services would have not been rendered in the first place." He then shoved his hands deeply into the pockets of his crimson vest and averted his gaze to the linoleum floor. "Though, before I go back inside I would like to just briefly find the washroom." Blue eyes darted back on the officer. "If that is alright." But that wasn't a request. That was a statement. Still out of courtesy but leaving no room for refusal. _

_Mensch's eyes narrowed in __acknowledgment__. "Of course. Right down the hall." He rested one hand on the doorknob as the child turned to leave. "Rather peculiar situation, isn't it?" he began. Chaud eyed him over his shoulder. "It is unfortunate that you two in particular were assigned to this investigation, seeing that you are very familiar with the missing person." Mensch gazed down at the doorknob. "But, I implore you not to take any unnecessary risks." He chuckled. "Of course, I don't believe you are the type to resort to such rash decision making." His gaze returned to the child._

"_I will keep that in mind," Chaud replied as he began to walk away._

"_Though, I can't say what I would do in a similar position. But I would be sure to make the best use of the time that has been given to me…in light of recent events." He opened the door. _

_Chaud paused in mid-stride._

_Mensch was gone but his voice lingered in the young man's mind. The boy had felt it. From the moment he had received that email that something was amiss with this entire mission. If the only priority was to incarcerate SearchMan, then the Operators would not have needed to travel. So this entire ordeal must be in light of that new piece of information that was shared with them only __**after **__they had arrived. He didn't like this…_

"_Of course, I don't believe you are the type to resort to such rash decision making…"_

_Chaud was confident of one thing at this point. _

_Of all the men that they met in that conference room…Mensch was the most dangerous._

* * *

Chaud didn't want to admit it, especially since he had willingly walked into a snare. But becoming a pawn may be the only way to discover the truth. But, that fact didn't alleviate his frustration. If following Mensch's "advice" was the only means of rectifying this situation, so be it. _"But where does that leave us?"_ the boy mused. Cornered. But not defeated.

Not yet at least.

"So what is our next step?"

Blaze was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't even notice Lan had returned…with something in tow.

"Where did you go?"

The brunette paused at the threshold that divided the suite into a living room and bedroom. He took a deep breath. "I admit that I become rather…uncooperative when I am hungry." Swiftly, he pranced over to the desk and dropped the plastic bag onto the laptop. The lid closed with a heavy thud.

"You seem to be the same," Lan added flatly before gliding away to the sliding glass doors. Chaud threw up his hands with astonishment. "Are you trying to break my things?!" He gestured at the bag. "And what the Hell is in this?! A bowling ball?!" Lan, face already plastered against the unblemished glass, refused to turn around. "No. Better than that." Ruffled noises were the only signal that he had successfully ensnared the other boy's curiosity.

"A full rack of ribs."

The brunette raised one clenched fist into the air. "The embodiment of our re—"

"WOULD YOU PLEASE STOP SAYTHING THAT!?" Chaud rolled his eyes. "You don't expect me to eat all of this do you?" The brunette shot him a look. "Ungrateful. After I go through all that trouble—"

"When is the last time—no—have you ever **seen** me eat something like _this_?!" He pointed at the over-sized meal hauntingly, as if it was laced with poison. Though, his stomach was less discriminatory. It sent him another wave of reminders about his decision to skip breakfast. "Well you are going to need your strength, Chaud," Lan said as the other boy continued to glare at the food. "Why so?" he asked testily.

"Well, you do have a plan don't you?"

Chaud froze. His eyes peered up at the brunette. "You think so."

"I know so," Lan said. "Don't think I didn't notice all those emails you keep blasting back and forth." He turned away from the view outside. "Besides, wouldn't you agree that a week is just seven days too many?"

* * *

To be continued…

* * *

R&R

LOTS


End file.
